Quell it with Fire
by ImmyRose
Summary: Everybody knew that the first Quarter Quell wasn't going to be a stroll in the park for the tributes. But nobody thought the President would make the districts personally choose their tributes. Even the Capitol are going to be in for a shock when they find out just how these Games are designed to suffocate any sparks of rebellion in the districts. By fighting fire with fire.
1. The Girl Who Played With Fire: Part One

Quell it with Fire

The First Quarter Quell

Prologue

_**Paraiba Addams, 15**_

_**District Five,**_

_Fire._

_I am fire, endlessly consuming itself to no avail, knowing nothing but light and pain. Well, I call it pain but to be honest, that's just a label that people put on this feeling that's spreading though me like clouds spread across a blue sky. Whatever this feeling, this pain is, it isn't making me want to scream and writhe around on the ground. On the contrary, it's thrilling, almost. It's like all of my senses have awoken themselves to the world, like I've just been re-energised. Yes, that was it. This pain was a wakeup call, letting me know that I had been chosen by the fire to join them. You could even see my body, silhouetted against the walls, glowing in the dark. Providing a beacon of colour to warn others away. Warning the strange, unpredictable species known as homo sapiens to avoid me._

_If you try and hurt me, you'll burn as well._

_Nobody would want to hurt me if I wielded the unstoppable power of this element, even though that didn't make any sense to me. Fire wasn't cruel; it was good. Helpful, even. It destroyed the unnecessary parts of you, your beauty, your strength. Leaving nothing but the core of who you were. Fire didn't waste time with evasion and deceit and mercy. Not like people did._

_But I had never thought about the possibility of that power blessing me with its flames. Enlightening me by cleansing my body of the last chains that bind me to humanity. Maybe it is better this way. Once I'm dead, I will never have to bow down to anybody's expectations again. Only then will I truly know happiness. Happy playing with fire._

_Like a piece of coal, the flames burn away at me, engulfing me in a supernova of brilliant oranges and reds and yellows. Revealing my true colours one more time before I fade into the oblivion of death. _

_Black threads of fabric fall off my skin as my clothes surrender to the fire. I don't mind; why would I ever need them now? They were another reminder of the life that I wanted so badly to leave behind. As soon as I couldn't be classed as human anymore, that was when I was at one with the fire. When I was really at home. _

_This was a far nicer place than my home, where disapproval and lies and greed had taken my mother like thieves in the night. And to think that she had tried to impose those ways onto me. Too bad for her, I wasn't planning on being anything like my mother. She thought that I didn't see how corrupted she was. Well she thought wrong. I knew about everybody's intentions, I could read people like I can read a page out of a book. Being able to do such a thing is just one of the many advantages of not being fully integrated in society's restrictive ways._

_It's so nice here, I think as I idly watch a tongue flicker over my wrist, unleashing another burst of this pain and adrenaline. At least I'm away from the strange ways of people. Yes, they were very interesting to observe but their ways made no sense to me. How did they tick? What goes on in their minds? Are any of them pretending to be human, like me? _

_That's another thing that most humans will never understand. I am not like them, having to hide behind words and faces. Oh no, I do what I like and damn the consequences._

_It really was too bad for people if they thought that the punishment they had imposed on me counted as a bad consequence._

…

That's when I get up. Or tried to, at least. You know there's a problem when you can't even sit up in your own bed. I'm guessing that the metal restraining band that pressed against my stomach and the handcuffs should have been a good clue as to this. At least, I am presuming that they are handcuffs. The lighting in the room that I was in wasn't helping me see very well, probably because the lights were turned off and it still appeared to be night. I try turning my head to look around the room and see if I can find anything else but merely moving my head causes a thud of pain to pound around in my head. They call this a headache, I think. Another one of the many bothersome and useless pains of this world. So much unlike fire.

Pain. There it is again. Except that I can't feel it as much. It seems dulled, subdued by something that I can't put a name on. Whatever has happened to the pain that I became so intimately familiar with that night, it isn't sending waves of adrenaline coursing though me anymore. Such a shame; I could have passed the time concentrating on that since there isn't anything else to really focus on.

What happened? Why am I here? What's going to happen to me? There should be anger at me being imprisoned here, uncertainty at how quickly my future had been changed without my knowledge, fear at what could happen to me. All that I can muster up is confusion. Why was I here?

I can't even remember anymore. All I can see when I close my eyes are the flames that had chosen me to envelope me. They may not be here in person anymore but that didn't matter; I could still see them in the room that I was seemingly trapped in.

Fire always burns brighter in the darkness.

* * *

**Hello there, this is my super-short introduction to my story telling the First Quarter Quell, where the districts had to choose who entered the Hunger Games. Yes, it is a SYOT and guess what? There are still spaces left. The list of spaces still open are on my profile; PM me if you want the form. And as a piece of advice; don't make Mary Sues or Katniss-clones. Make actual people; I'll be more inclined to help your tribute out since I'm the girl writing this :P**

**If you're reading this, it would be great if you reviewed telling me your thoughts on Paraiba, who I created :)**

_~ImmyRose _


	2. The Girl Who Played With Fire: Part Two

Quell it with Fire

The First Quarter Quell

Prologue Part Two

_**Paraiba Addams, 15**_

_**District Five,**_

"Miss Addams, how nice it is to finally get a chance to meet you myself."

The words don't register in my head as the lights are finally turned on, temporarily blinding me as fireworks seem to explode in my head. My headache had not disappeared during the hours of darkness I had endured and the lights burrowing down straight into my brain was only making it worse. Squinting, I slowly turn my head so that I can see my visitor that was sitting next to my bed. I catch a glimpse of shiny brown hair and eerie pink eyes. Yes, pink. Even her pupils were candy-floss pink, making the stranger's eyes look distinctly inhuman. And Capitol. No District Five resident could afford to make their eyes unnatural colours, even though I personally thought it looked quite cool. Seriously, it made the woman's eyes look like marbles. Other people would probably find it creepy but I didn't think that they were. Actually, the fact that you couldn't see her pupils was fascinating and I find myself staring straight at her eyes, trying to see if I could spot a tell-tale ring that indicated where her pupils were.

A light slap on my cheek brings me back to reality as those intriguingly alien eyes look at me, "Is anybody home? You'll need to pay attention in the days to come, sweetie." The Capitol person informs me in a patronizing tone.

"Why are you here?" I ask her while looking at her hair, which was also fascinating. One minute her hair was a rich red-brown, the next it was dark chocolate. Every time she moved her head, her hair seemed to turn into a vibrant spectrum of brown, like a flickering flame. I guess some complicated dye from the Capitol's labs were at work here, a mixture of chemicals that reacted to the light by changing colour, because I have never seen anyone's hair change colour like this woman's was doing.

She smirks at me, "It's come to my attention that your own district cannot make you behave, judging by your antics two days ago," Her grin only grows wider at the confusion which is evident on my face, "So being the charitable person that I am, I decided to lend a hand to deal with you."

"I've been in this room for two days?" I ask, my voice sceptical. If I haven't eaten or drank anything in two days, surely I would feel ill or weak. Then I notice the tubes running to and fro from my bed, providing me with a plausible explanation as to how starvation hadn't taken me by now. They were pumping nutrients into me, keeping me alive wherever I liked it or not. Well, I did enjoy living, but why were District Five looking after me? Was I even in that district, the district I refused to consider as home, anymore?

"Yes sweetie, just two days. Which is a good thing since I've been wanting to meet you after that incident."

"Don't call me sweetie." That term ''sweetie'' was meaningless and fake, fake as those eyes of hers. My hands grip the rails of my hospital bed tighter, put on edge by her nice façade. Strangely enough, I didn't trust her and I could already tell that she didn't mean me well.

"And don't tell me what to do," The mystery woman bares her teeth threateningly at me, only making her look even less human as she drops her civil persona, "I'm going to be the one ending your life soon enough, so you had better behave."

This poorly-concealed threat to my life does not escape my notice, "If you're just going to kill me, then why are you wasting your time making sure that I'm uninjured? Why did you even pull me out?" Yes, why did you pull me away from the fire that was awaiting me?

That earns me another creepy smile from her, "Now why would I let you die in those flames and give you a quick death when I can draw it out in my own time?"

Her words were blunt, with no attempts at sugar-coating her threat. The strange thing was, I actually didn't mind. People who did was she had just done, people who told the truth were more likely to gain my respect than those that entire lives revolve around lies. Lying was just a illogical, brief reprieve to a situation that never really got you anywhere in the end.

With this in mind, there really wasn't much point in telling her that killing children was illegal in District Five; everybody knew that Capitol citizens were exempt from the harsh punishments that the people in the districts suffered. And whoever this person was must be important in the running of Panem. If they wanted to torture me then there wasn't a lot I could actually do about it. Hello? I was only a lower-class resident from District Five. Not like I had ever cared about my status but it didn't give me much power when compared to this person. What was I going to do about it if she did decide to kill me here and then? Since it was kind of my fault that I was here in the first place, might as well go with the flow.

"Well, what are you waiting for?"

I ask her this question in a distant voice, too busy looking at a spider-web crack on the wall to really pay any attention to my captor. My brain was caught up in all the different ways the lines spread out. Not a single one of them was a straight line.

None of them were perfect, but that was alright with me. Why would you want to see something spotless, something so wondrously absolute in its glory, when observing the flaws was so much more interesting? Like people; nobody was perfect, but perfection was never going to last here in Panem, where the dark side of humanity ran rife. And it was here, where nothing was lily-white in terms of goodness, that you could really see how people worked.

Some people say that humanity is beautiful, something that should be protected at all costs because of the sheer complexity of mankind, but I thought differently. Yes, the human mind was a unique thing, with one never behaving, never being the exact same as another, but that didn't make it beautiful in itself. On the contrary, humanity was a parasite, destroying everything in its wake, even itself. Just look at the state that they had left their own planet in; global warming, the seas devouring much of the land, the devastation in the remnants of District Thirteen. Not even the mocking-jays wanted to visit the ruins that they still showed a lot on the television. The entire district, which had once been bustling with human life, had been flattened by the Capitol. What 'beautiful' species would want to kill one another for no good cause?

"I'm waiting for the Games to begin." She says suddenly, unless she had been trying to get my attention several times over. People always said that I got easily distracted but I told them they were wrong. I wasn't easily distracted, I just happened to have a keener eye for the interesting details in life.

Curious as to why she would suddenly mention the Hunger Games, I try and sit up to face her more comfortably but the restraining band is still there, stopping me from moving up more than a few inches. Ignoring the harsh cold of the metal against my stomach, I try and struggle out of it to no avail. Having my hands restricted by handcuffs wasn't helping me very much in escaping.

"Why are you waiting for the Games?" I ask her once I stop struggling, finally realising that the only thing I was doing was providing entertainment for this woman. Those words were uttered in a tone of voice that was probably too bold for someone of my position, but I don't think the woman cared. Then realisation hits me like a hot, bitter wind, "You're not seriously implying that I'm going in, are you?"

"No darling Paraiba, I am not _implying_," She adds unnecessary emphasis on the word 'implying', "I am promising. You, Paraiba Addams, will be the District Five tribute for the Twenty Fifth Annual Hunger Games."

I just blink uncomprehendingly at her. However, my mouth blurted out the first thought that came to mind before my brain could tell me to stay quiet and shut up, "Me? In the Hunger Games? Aren't I supposed to be the crazy one?"

She just laughs, "Yes you are, little Paraiba, but I can guarantee that your district will be measuring out space for your coffin before six months are up."

"Yeah right," I say dismissively, "You're not a – "

That's when it kicks in. The fact that she's come to visit me. Her Capitol citizenship, right down to the pink eyes. Her absolute confidence in my supposed death in the Hunger Games, yeah, it should have occurred to me earlier that I might just possibly be talking to someone who has a lot of say in running the Games. Somebody like, say, a Gamemaker.

And I just called her crazy. Well, you would have to be if you willingly helped run the event that horribly killed twenty three children every year. Not like I could talk, according to most people. Personally, I didn't have a clue what they were talking about. I wasn't insane – everyone else was just plain crazy.

"I'm not a what?" The possible Gamemaker inquires, a sly smile playing on her lips, "A Gamemaker? Well sweetie, I hope you weren't going to say that because you would be wrong. And that wouldn't do me any good at all. After all, the arena this year is inspired by you. Really, you should be proud that I've decided to pay you so much attention."

"Oh, why thank you ever so much," I answer, trying and failing to hide my sarcasm, "What does this amazing Paraiba inspired arena involve? A temple dedicated to me? Statues of me coming to life and chasing me? Wait actually, that would be really cool. Could you do that, pretty please?"

The Gamemaker blinks at me. Somehow, I don't think that she was expecting me to be asking her to send miniature versions of myself after me in the arena. Asking for such a thing was considered ''weird'' among people but I was hardly like ''normal'' people now, was I?

Ha, I wasn't even asking to annoy her, I had asked because it _would _be cool. That wasn't sarcasm; it would be so amazing, if slightly jarring, fighting yourself. It would definitely be the ultimate test of one's worth, seeing if you could outperform yourself in combat or brains. How odd would that be, managing to outsmart yourself…

The woman scrapes one nail against my chin, tapping her long, pastel blue nails against my skin, "So unafraid, aren't you? We'll see how long that lasts, won't we now?"

Giving me one last smile, she smoothly gets up and leaves the room, confident that whatever I did from now on would be part of a game which I had no say in. Like I was a pawn being moved across a board by far more powerful opponents, opponents that considered me expendable in this great game of theirs. I'd call it the Hunger Games, but it was so much larger than that now. Whichever twenty four tributes were picked this year were all going to be reduced to pawns on a chessboard.

We're playing the Capitol games now. Wherever we like it or not.

* * *

Tribute list for the 25th Hunger Games

_**District One - The Luxury District**_

Male: Prodigy Avenue, 17 - PretentiousScholar

Female: Crimson Dasher, 15 - i-am-foxface

_**District Two - The Stone Quarry/ Peacekeeper District**_

Male: Riley-Iron Holt, 18 - Blue Eyes Arch Angel

Female: Lyona Stonelef, 16 - Katnissfire87654

_**District Three - The Technology District**_

Male: Kiba Bard, 16 - Jayfish

Female: Peyton Wyre, 13 - d11olive-13

_**District Four - The Fishing District**_

Male: Ros Messina, 17 - IHeartNialler

Female: Brenna Fairbain, 16 - NinjaNakkiofCabin11

_**District Five - The Science District**_

Male: Promethium ''Rome'' Tundra, 17 - KickToTheTeeth

Female: Paraiba Addams, 15 - ImmyRose

_**District Six - The Medicine District**_

Male: Tableyt Kohl, 17 - nb1998

Female: Althea Kayson, 18 - Necklace of Rope

_**District Seven - The Lumber District**_

Male: Ender Nightingale, 18 - SparrowCries

Female: Ezmera Hazel, 16 - DA Member Hogwarts

_**District Eight - The Textiles District**_

Male: Velvet Red, 12 - Aspect1

Female: Astoria Blackthorne, 15 - Ninja Phoenix/ Blazing Mockingjay/ i-am-foxface

_**District Nine - The Hunting District**_

Male: Lynx, 18 - Cashmere67

Female: River Callero, 17 - CallietheCareer

_**District Ten - The Livestock District**_

Male: Badger Willis, 16 - mrspeetamellark55

Female: Arya Snow, 17 - jakey121

_**District Eleven - The Agricultural District**_

Male: Fir "Fox" Crusix, 17 - Squintz

Female: Cilla Jardine, 18 - LaFlorine

_**District Twelve - The Coal Mining District**_

Male: Cinder Mell, 15 - androidilenya/ nb1998

Female: Dandelion ''Dani'' Wildflee, 12 - Innocent Primrose Everdeen


	3. Beauty and the Beast - District 1

Quell it with Fire

The First Quarter Quell

District One Reapings**  
**

_**Crimson Dasher, 15**_

_**District One,**_

Ooh, wasn't this rabbit cute? Thinking that it could bite my fingers and get away with it. Laughing, I yank the rabbit's head away from my finger and let my fingers stroke the rabbit's pelt, smearing it in red. Oops, I forgot to add that the animal was bleeding from several deep cuts along its flank. That was me who had done that, me who had used my knife to cut the rabbit. I suppose that some people would say that this was cruelty to animals but personally, I thought that this was a masterpiece. All I did was show the rabbit's true colours under that boring fluffy pelt. Grey was such a dull colour, after all; it should be grateful that I was decorating their coat so that it was fashionable and stood out among the other rabbits. Well, that was if I had any intentions of letting my toy get away, which I didn't.

Looky here, the rabbit has a really fluffy tail. It felt really nice to stroke and everything. Only thing was, it was the most boring shade of white, like a snowball. Some would say that white represented purity and all of that pointless crap which didn't actually exist. But why worry about that kind of thing now? This was real, this was happening here, right now. And it was so much fun. Why believe in things that you couldn't feel, or see, or touch, when you could be spending time playing with me? I was perfectly nice to anyone willing to play. Just ask Sapphire.

"Sapphi, what should we do next?" I ask her in a lilting voice, tilting my head as I observed one of my paintings. It wasn't the best I had done, if I was honest, but that was because the rabbit had kept struggling and scratching me. The cuts weren't deep enough and it would not stop squeaking. High-pitched sounds managed to really irritate me. _They _had high-pitched voices too, it wasn't natural. None of _them _were natural.

Sapphire – otherwise known as Sapphi – grins at me and raises her knife, "I think," She starts, "I think we should perform some ''corrective surgery' here," In one smooth movement, she slashes her knife down and skins the fur off the rabbit's stomach, revealing its innards to look at. If anybody complained, we could just say that it was in the name of scientific research. People in District Five must do this sort of thing all the time then, since they were the science district. I would love to be a scientist, dissecting and playing around with animals to my heart's content…

Sapphi looks at her watch indifferently as I continued to tear the rabbit into pieces, "Crimson, we might need to hurry up, the Reaping's today."

She sounds bored, as if she has better things to do than see which typical dumb idiot ran up to die in the Games. Well actually, nobody would be volunteering today since this was the first 'Quarter Quell' ever, meaning that the districts would choose who got picked. Much as it would be fun witnessing the dismay of the eighteen-year old Careers that were not able to volunteer this year, watching two of those eighteen-year old Careers cheer in joy at being reaped didn't seem like such a great alternative, however.

Last year had been no exception to this rule, except for the fact that the girl had been Reaped. That hadn't made any difference though; she had enough training to rival her district partner. Of course, training hadn't helped the boy when he successfully managed to stab himself with his own spear. I had laughed at the surprised expression on his face when he had done that. It was hilarious. Too bad that the girl hadn't died in such a hilarious manner. Being betrayed by a twelve year old child was hardly a great way to go, but I guess she had brought it upon herself, trusting her allies like that. I would have never made such a silly mistake.

It would be amazing to go into the Hunger Games. It was a guarantee that I would win. After all, I understood the true meaning of participating in the Games. They were nothing but a game, right down to the name. Too bad that my district would probably pick some idiot with more muscles than brains. Okay, I wasn't the smartest but I definitely had more intelligence than most of my district. Well, I had more intelligence than most of my dumb family, at least. All that my stupid mother and older sister cared about were how "beautiful" they looked. In my opinion, they both looked freakish. Especially Glow, she scares me sometimes with how much she looks like _them_.

Pouting, I stop playing with my toy and look at it critically. On close observation, it looked like I had broken it. Every rabbit did that eventually and it was so unfair. Why couldn't I just play with something without it deciding to break? Didn't they understand that it was so much effort trying to find another one to play with? I swear that I spent most of my time trying to find a rabbit to have fun with and an hour or so after I had started playing with them, they broke. Every single one had stopped working and I could never remember why.

"Sapphire," I say, looking at the rabbit in irritation, "Why do they always do this to me?"

"Why does who do what to you?" Now Sapphire turns to look at me, her green eyes looking confused at my question. I guess that I had phrased it awkwardly but it made sense to me.

"Why do the rabbits always break?" I practically whine, "Couldn't they try harder to be nice to me?"

Sapphi giggles manically, "They're dead, Crimson. They always die. That's the only thing that they exist for, for us to play with them," Wiping her hands on her jeans, she gets up, quickly changing the topic as she does so, "We might as well go now; the Capitol freak show isn't going anywhere."

Rolling her eyes, she starts jogging back to District One. The industrialised area of our district, anyway. I stay behind, staring blankly at my hands. On any other day, I wouldn't have minded too much if I had to stop playing in the forest early but today was definitely an exception to this rule. You would have to be crazy if you wanted to go and meet one of _them_. The Capitol aliens. With their weird fashion tastes and inhuman looks, there was no way that they could be people. How were bright blue eyes and banana yellow skin and plastic purple hair normal? Everything about them was like something out of a fairy tale story, with the strange Capitol creatures playing the part of the monsters. They were so remote and unreal to me that there was no way that I wanted to be anywhere near them. If there was one thing that I was scared of, it was them. At least none of them ever went here. This was my domain, here in the forest, and none of the Capitol freaks were welcome here.

"Crimson, you coming?" Sapphire's voice breaks me out of my thoughts as she turns around, realising that I hadn't caught up with her yet.

Shaking myself mentally, I stand up, "Sure, let's go back home."

Home. A word that doesn't really mean anything to me. That one word didn't conjure up any happy thoughts of a nice family. No good memories were attached to the bricks that made up my home, neither were any good thoughts attached to my parents and older sister.

No, the only peace I ever got when I was at home was with Shine, my younger and much nicer sister. She was the only person that treated me like an actual person and not something that should be ignored and neglected. Unfortunately, she had gone away for the day to who-knows-where and had left me on my own, stuck with my stupid parents and Glow. I just couldn't _wait _to run into them again.

…

"Crimson, did you even bother to make yourself look presentable this morning?"

Clenching my fists together, I turn to face the creepy, unnatural face of the _thing _that was meant to be my sister. This monster was supposed to be related to me. The thought was enough to make me shudder. With her berry red lips and piercing grey eyes, emphasised with excessive amounts of dark eye-liner, she looked like she had stepped out straight from the front cover of a Capitol magazine. And I hated the Capitol people, with their every little move indicating that they were not human, not normal, not something that we should be welcoming into our district. It was like an alien invasion. As in, the Capitol citizens had managed to fool everyone into thinking that they were people when in reality, they were anything but. Well they couldn't fool me.

The hand gripping my wrist snaps me out of my thoughts, not like that was much of a surprise. I couldn't help it; I just happened to be easily distracted, that's all. It wasn't really anything to be worrying about. What I was worrying about was the fact that Glow had my wrist in her perfectly-manicured hands, inspecting them critically.

"Really?" She sighs in irritation, "Red nails are so last week and that's not even sanitary. Oh ew!" Without any warning, she lets go of my hand, "That is just disgusting. Go and wash that off your hands now. It's making you look like one of those ugly savages from the Games."

Savages? I'll show her what a savage really was if she didn't stop insulting me or rather, the Hunger Games. I wanted to go into them _now_ and here was my 'sister' insulting them. You see, my sister absolutely hated the Hunger Games, thankfully not because she found them boring – as if they could ever be considered boring – but because she thought that the tributes weren't 'pretty' enough. Many a time have I been forced to endure her complaining about how she was never going to volunteer because she was so ugly and that the Hunger Games wouldn't be helpful in maintaining good skin and hair. Disregarding the fact that the Hunger Games were anything but some trivial beauty contest.

Oblivious to my irritated thoughts, Glow continues to criticise me, "I cannot believe that I have to put up with the burden of being in the same district as you, let alone the same house."

I couldn't really say that Glow's last sentence had really had much of an effect on me. Actually, the hatred that she felt towards me was mutual.

Ignoring Glow, I focus on the pink vase that was on a table behind Glow. It was such a pretty shade of pink, like a rose petal. The sunlight seemed to pass though the vase. So very pretty. All that was needed was blood decorating it, spreading across the vase like blossoming flowers, forever staining it with sticky red. The thought makes me giggle.

Glow stops talking when she hears me laugh. Her eyes, so unnaturally emphasised by the powders and chemicals that she smeared on her skin everyday, break me out of my daydream, "And you laugh at the most random times," She moans, "No wonder that Michael didn't want to go out with me. I wouldn't have gone out with me either with you around."

Before she can continue with her self-obsessed tirade, I shove Glow backwards, making sure that her hand fell straight onto that vase, shattering it into a dozen shards of crystal. Glow, being unprepared for my attack, puts her hands on the table to steady herself, unintentionally scratching her hands against the broken vase in the process.

As the shattered remnants of the vase broke into Glow's skin, perfect red spots of blood started to seep out of the cut, gleaming in the light like the eyes of the rabbits that I so much loved to play with.

What wasn't so pretty was the expression on Glow's face. In a few seconds, it had gone from distaste to fury, making herself look even more scary than she already had done, "You bitch," She snarls at me, "Look what you've done. My manicure is ruined."

Narrowing her eyes, she outstretches her uninjured hand to me, her face twisted into something from a nightmare. Instinctively, I shove her away, reacting defensively to this potential threat. Before she can do or say anything, I run upstairs, hoping that she wouldn't follow me. If she thought that I was going into my room, she wouldn't follow me. She didn't like my exhibitions that I had there.

I didn't really see what there was to not like, I think as I open the door to my room. Who wouldn't like admiring the twenty of so marvellous rabbit skulls that I owned? All of them were beautifully polished and a gorgeous tan colour, like the colour of a dead leaf. It took me ages to retrieve the skull from the rabbit using my knife and once I had done that, only a few were fit to be displayed in my room. The ones that I had were the only ones that weren't scratched or dented and I loved them. Sometimes when I was on my own, it was almost like they came to life to talk to me. Of course, I was perfectly happy to talk back to them.

"Do you think that District One will pick me?" I ask them, giggling at the thought of being in the multi-coloured city of the Capitol. There were so many pretty colours there. Such a shame that the pretty city was overrun with _them_.

None of the rabbit heads responded. They probably didn't feel like talking to me right now. Rabbits were not the most sociable to me, although I couldn't imagine why. It's not like I was mean to them or anything, anything but. I always let one of them play with me if I could find them. See? They even played hide-and-seek. How could they possibly think that I was mean?

I would love to play with the animals in the arena, I think to myself, recalling the past arenas that the Hunger Games had produced. All of them had some form of animal in them, even last year, where you wouldn't have expected to see many rabbits. Okay, there hadn't actually been any rabbits there but they still had a few animals flying around. I'm sure that they would love playing a game with me. That probably wouldn't be happening this year, then.

Well that was the Capitol's loss then. They didn't know what they were missing out on with me here. Like I had said, I understood the true meaning of the Hunger Games. They weren't there for money, or fame, or power. Oh no, their purpose was far more simple than that, but hardly any of the Careers realised what that purpose was. The whole thing is a game, only a game, a pretty little game.

_And it would be such a honour to play._

* * *

_**Prodigy Avenue, 17**_

_**District One,**_

Beauty.

Nothing is more important than looking your best. Making sure that your hair correctly framed your cheekbones and that the clothes that you wore were just the right colour to make your eyes stand out. Then there was styling and conditioning your hair, and ex foliating your skin so that it radiated with a healthy glow to it. And lets not forget how you actually presented yourself; posture and the right level of confidence were definitely important in how well you could pull off whatever the latest fashions were. Even if you had the most well-conditioned hair in the district and was wearing clothes straight out of next month's fashion magazine, you wouldn't be able to pull it off without looking comfortable in them. Why some people would feel uncomfortable in the fabulous clothes that you could buy here was something that I would never understand. Of course, when I was around, you should feel awed. This was Prodigy Avenue you were dealing with, after all. Son of one of the most famous jewellers' in District One and future victor of the Twenty Fifth Hunger Games.

How would I know that I will be competing in the Games? Well it's not because I can tell the future, although I would forgive you for thinking that a person like me could do such a thing. Neither was it because I was planning on volunteering, oh no. I had far more class than to outrun all of the other boys in my district and ruin my hair in the process. No, this year, the districts get the chance to select their tributes and I just know that I was going to be the chosen one. Every district wanted a victor, didn't they? So they would be guaranteed to pick the best of the best. And in this glorious district, that person would obviously be me.

Now, I was well aware that every other respectable person was thinking the same thing. But what none of them had that I did were the resources needed to spread the word that I was clearly the best person to win the first ever Quarter Quell. Of course, all of my numerous friends had already promised to vote for me but this district was large and my fan base would never suffice. That's where my family come in. Since they owned jewellery stores all around District One, they were plenty capable of informing everyone of my ambitions to be the next District One victor. Whenever somebody brought something from my parents' shops, they were given a card asking them to vote for me. Of course, I hadn't stopped there; not everybody shopped for jewellery in this district. The solution? Hang posters up everywhere, making sure that the shot of me was more flattering to appeal to the girls. I had even managed to appear on the television once.

I was clearly going to go into the Games this year. None of my opposition had done anything nearly as extensive and as impressive as me, not like that was a surprise or anything.

"Prodigy, I hope you're coming downstairs for your breakfast. It's rude to keep your friend waiting." That would be my mother. She had probably invited one of my friends around for breakfast before the Reapings begun.

"Coming Mum," I reply back as I jog downstairs, glancing at the watch that adorned my wrist. Only one hour to go until the Reaping. It really was a good thing that I had already made myself look presentable for when I was picked. Just to make sure though, I check myself as I pass the mirror that hangs on the wall. Yes, I still looked as stunning as ever. That would only be a good thing since there would be cameras recording my every move in the town square.

When I enter the kitchen, I'm surprised to see Pointelle there. Usually she would be squeezing in a few extra minutes of training but then again, she often trained with me so it would have made some sense for her to not begin without me. My breakfast is on the table, set neatly in front of the one empty chair around the table. It was clearly meant for me to sit at and I do so. While I tuck into my breakfast, my parents try and make small talk with Pointelle.

"So then Pointelle, do you think that you'll be picked this year?" My mother asks neutrally, stirring in sugar to go with the cup of coffee that she was drinking.

I hope not; since it was practically a guarantee that I would be in the Games this year, it would be unfortunate if the girl coming in with me happened to be the one that I considered my closest girlfriend. When I said that, I meant it in the fact that she was my friend and was a girl, not that we were dating. Such a thing would never do when trying to gain sponsors for the arena. I had learnt from watching recaps of the past Hunger Games that being single and attractive usually led to more sponsors. Last year's victor hadn't been in a relationship, although that had all changed once they had won.

Pointelle absent-mindedly plays with a stray piece of her hair, "I doubt it," She says, sounding slightly disappointed, "This year's my last year as well. I was going to volunteer and now I can't."

For a second, I consider how someone would feel if they had trained most of their lives to enter the Games, just to have their last opportunity snatched away by this twist. It probably wasn't the greatest feeling in the world and Pointelle was probably feeling this way now. On the plus side, she hadn't invested all of her time in training so she had a job. In retrospect, it was probably a good thing that she hadn't because there was no way that becoming a victor would ever be happening for her now. Well that didn't matter; as soon as I came home as a victor, I'd share some of the riches with Pointelle, although neither of us really needed the money. And, if by some weird twist of fate, I wasn't picked, I always had next year since I was seventeen. Don't worry though; I was just as dangerous as any typical eighteen year old, if not deadlier.

"Oh yes, I forgot that you're eighteen now. Oh well, I'm sure that my son here will be this year's victor instead," My father booms, looking over at me expectantly.

Sitting up straighter in my chair, I feel my lips curving upwards into a smirk, "Well of course. What else were you expecting?"

My parents both smile, "I knew I raised you right," My father says proudly while my mother and Pointelle nod. I notice that there's a slight smile now lingering on Pointelle's lips as she returns to eating her food.

Apparently the discussion was over, as nobody said anything else until we had all finished our breakfast.

"Time to go," My mother trills as we get up and leave my house. It's actually quite strange realising that I won't be returning to this house for several weeks. Strangely enough, it reminds me of those 'holidays' that people used to have before the Dark Days, where you were allowed to leave their district and explore others for a few weeks. Of course, you weren't allowed to do that anymore unless it was for Victory Tours, like the one that would surely be happening for me.

Oh well, it didn't matter anyway. Everybody knew that District One were the best out of the lot, apart from the Capitol. Why would I want to visit the ramshackle ranches of District Ten or choke on the permanent cloud of smoke that seemed to hang over District Three? Not that I had witnessed those things first-hand or anything; those scraps of information were the only thing that I had gleaned from the occasional television program that mentioned the districts. But who cared about the other pathetic districts when you could watch the Capitol shows about how to look your best? Much as I loved District One and how much everybody cared about their appearance, the Capitol regarded beauty with far more respect than we did. The advancements they had made with their cosmetics were truly astonishing and although my district had plenty of high-quality products around, I was sure that the Capitol could do even better.

A light tap on my shoulder brings me back to reality, "Are you just going to stand there all day?" Pointelle asks me lightly, directing me to where the queue of boys was. The space reserved for the boys was filling up quite quickly; the Reaping was due to start any time now. After saying goodbye to my friend, I quietly join the queue and look at the other people that could well be joining me in the arena. I focus on the eighteen year old girls in particular. Strategically speaking, they should be the strongest out of the eligible tributes and it would make sense that one of them might be chosen. Although there were always exceptions to this rule, such as me.

Hissing, I pull my finger away as the needle penetrates my skin. Couldn't they formulate a method of keeping track of us without the pain of using needles? Using needles that had touched other people's skin wasn't even hygienic.

A burst of static announces the arrival of the District One escort, "Greetings, and welcome to the first ever Quarter Quell," The escort chirps enthusiastically, "It is such a honour to be here and I'm sure that the victors – I mean tributes – will be ready to represent District One this year. Now, without further ado, let's find out who the girl tribute for this year's Hunger Games is."

I resisted the temptation to roll my eyes. Why was the escort wasting time reaping the girl tribute? It wasn't like she stood a chance with me entering the arena with her. This was me, Prodigy Avenue, son of the great Calico and Heather Avenue, after all. There was no way that this girl could ever beat me. Chances are that one of my fans would be reaped, since I had so many of them. They wouldn't even dare consider attacking me in the arena. If one of the other tributes didn't kill her then my fans would if she returned home.

Why was I even considering the possibility of this girl winning? Like I had said, she was entering with me here and I didn't even know who this girl was. Of course, this small problem would soon be rectified.

"For our fabulous girl tribute, can a Miss Crimson Dasher come up to the stage?"

Complete silence fell across the square for a second, and then a manic giggle reaches my ears. Since it was so quiet, you can hear the pounding of feet against concrete as this Crimson chick makes herself apparent. Giggling, she twirls up to the stage happily, a wide grin spread across her face while my hopes fall.

This girl was definitely not one of my fans. At least, I hoped that she wasn't, anyway. If all of my fans looked as rabid as her then I was definitely not going to be impressed. Everything about her suggested that she was not someone who took pride in their appearance. From her messy red-brown curls that were matted and tangled to her eyes, which were very wide and a eerie shade of grey. Even her outfit looked hideous; a blood red dress that only matches with the red swirls that were on her arms. From here, it was hard to tell what ink she had used to stencil the patterns onto her arms but it didn't look very professionally done.

She looked very shabby, which was a disgrace. Didn't this girl know that she was ruining District One's reputation with her lack of decent fashion sense? At least I would soon be chosen and restore the carefully maintained reputation that this girl had almost scuppered. She was too small to be eighteen years old, but it was clear as to why my district had picked her. Surely, nobody would want to put up with this fashion disaster, would they?

As soon as Crimson finishes skipping up to the stage, the escort grins and outstretches their hand towards her. This doesn't seem to go down too well with the girl, who changes in an instant from a manically happy girl to an equally creepy feral animal, raking her nails down the escort's face while snarling like a cat. If I didn't know any better, it was almost like she had been possessed by some otherworldly spirit, except that such things did not exist here.

Only in the arena did they exist, bowing down to the Gamemakers' whim since there was no way that they would be around otherwise except in the nightmares of small children. Otherworldly spirits which I would probably have to fight in order to win the Hunger Games. Sure, it would be awful for maintaining my reputation as the patron saint of beauty but sacrifices must be made to get what you wanted. Although some arenas had been dreadful for skincare, such as jungles. The high levels of humidity would be guaranteed to make my hair turn frizzy…

"Anyway, now that our girl tribute has calmed down from her excitement at being Reaped," The escort continues excitedly, clearly undeterred by the obvious scratch marks down her cheek, "It is now time to find out who the boy tribute is," Skipping in a way not dissimilar to Crimson's method of travelling up to the stage, she heads over to the glass bowl that has one slip of paper in its pristine grasp. I think I could safely say that my name would be on that slip in elegant writing. How could it not?

And what do you know? As soon as that thought popped into my head, the escort is calling my name.

"Prodigy Avenue."

There's no surprise that suddenly kicks in, no fear. Well why would there be? I had been expecting this and it should be no surprise to anybody that I was the person that had been deemed the most suitable for winning. All around me, I can hear the irritated mutters of the other boys as they realise that they aren't the best of the best. No, because that was a role that only I would be able to fill and I had full intentions of proving this to everybody in the arena.

Putting a winning smile on my face, I confidently stride forwards. Everybody makes a path up to the stage for me, which only makes my smile grow. Already, I was guaranteed sponsors for my confident front at the Reaping. Added to my automatic status as a Career and my fame in District One, and I might as well already be crowned victor. Sure, I wasn't the most patient person but if the Capitol wanted me to prove myself worthy of that title then I would do. It's not like I can lose.

Once I've reached the stage, the escort grins even wider at me. Clearly, she was proud and slightly awed to be in the presence of myself. Well who wouldn't be?

"Ladies and gentlemen, I am proud to present you with District One's first ever tributes for the Quell," This is met with a massive roar of cheering as District One showed their approval of the Hunger Games. I smile and wave at random, too busy soaking up the applause to try and recognise any of them.

Then the escort asks us to shake hands. Asks me to shake hands with my vile district partner. Up close, she looks even less attractive, with her hair having clumps of mud entangled in it. The necklace that she wears around her neck looks like a cluster of bones joined together with a bunch of string. But not even this…_thing_ would wear a necklace made of bones, would they?

My fears at having a deranged district partner are confirmed when I get a closer glimpse at the 'ink' that is covering her arms. It's dried and is starting to flake off but you can still tell what Crimson had willingly smeared all over her arms. Blood.

Brilliant. I had a complete lunatic for my district partner. Looks like I wouldn't be using my influential position to defeat her then, since I doubted that she cared for the important things in life such as reputation and fame. But that's fine then, I didn't need to use my power as a walking stick to help me to victory. I had plenty of other tricks up my sleeve that this girl did not.

Never underestimate the power of beauty.

* * *

**And here we have the first Reapings. Updates will be slow, by the way, and I'll probably upload a chapter per fortnight (or something along those lines, anyway).**

**Anyway, which tribute did you like the best out of Crimson (submitted by i-am-foxface) and Prodigy (submitted by PretentiousScholar) and why? I do appreciate reviews since it lets me know that a) you're reading the story and b) your opinions on things (which I do want to hear about, no matter how weird or random) XD**


	4. Honesty or Deceit? - District 7

Quell it with Fire

The First Quarter Quell

District Seven Reapings**  
**

**__****Ezmera Hazel, 16**

**__****District Seven,**

"What happened to Princess Rosalyn next, Ezmera?" The two children that I happened to be reading the storybook to chimed, both looking at me with reverence in their eyes.

Turning over the page of the book, I read the words out to the children that I was looking after, "And then Princess Rosalyn was made Queen and married the handsome prince," I try not to show my scepticism at the next words, "And the two of them lived happily ever after."

One of them cheers as I close the book, a wide grin on her face. It really was a shame that the fairytale ending that I had just recited to these children were just that; fairytales. These children were still young enough to believe that these endings were possible, and I didn't want to witness them as they slowly opened up to the harshness of reality as they grew older. Reluctantly, I put aside the book, not wanting to burst this little bubble of contentment that this building seemed to be in.

"Ezmera, are you gonna tell us another story?"

The girl who had asked me that question was the youngest of the two children who were sitting around me. Her brown curls bobbled around her head as she looked up at me, a smile gracing her face.

Ruffling her hair, I answer, "I think you mean 'going to', Sasha. As in, are you going to tell us a story."

Sasha sticks her bottom lip out at me in a pout, "Aw, do I have to learn all of this grammar stuff? It's not like I'll ever use it for workin' in the lumber yard. Mummy said so."

Inwardly, I sigh. Education in District Seven was sadly lacking, since swinging a axe into a tree didn't require a lot of brainpower. Something that this little girl here was only proving to me. Most people in District Seven followed the same line of logic, the ''I won't ever need it, therefore I shall not bother learning it'' kind of thing. Well it was always a better idea to be prepared in case the unexpected happened. After all, it was impossible to predict the future. You never knew what could happen. Although most people would delight in telling me that being intelligent and educated would not get you far in this district no matter what.

Trying to not look too unhappy with this flawed logic, I calmly reply, "No, it isn't essential that you know how to speak correctly to work in a lumber yard but it's nice for other people to understand what you are saying."

Sasha shrugs, "People understand what I'm sayin' anyway," She points out, "Must you be so …" Her voice trails off as she struggles to find the word that she wanted to use.

I could already guess what the possibilities were. Not many people were a fan of me since they considered me 'arrogant' and a 'know it all' but I thought differently. All I did was make sure that everybody was well informed about how I felt about something. Everybody else did that, didn't they? Tell people their opinions. I couldn't see why me trying to help people was considered a bad thing. Like now, with Sasha and her friend, Evergreen. Sasha was only six years old and was so innocent and sweet.

Every child started out like Sasha was; curious and naïve to the world, with a never-ending desire to learn more about the world around them. They had so much promise in them to become good, educated people that succeeded in whatever they wanted to do. Unfortunately, this mentality rarely survived once the children were burdened with the pressure of society. Having to be reshaped so that they accepted whatever prejudiced ways and manners society gave them without question wasn't great for independence and intelligence. Well it wouldn't if you were reduced to not even being able to think for yourself without approval.

"Must you be so petty with it?" Sasha complains, finally managing to finish her inquiry, "I'll never be able to remember all of those rules about grammar," She misses out on pronouncing the 'r' in 'grammar'.

"Grammar didn't help my brother," Evergreen speaks up, her voice barely higher than a whisper. Her brown eyes were starting to fill up with tears as unhappy memories started to fill her mind.

Sympathy swept though me like a wave. Evergreen was a perfect example of what happened when society crushed a child. Once, once upon a time, this girl had been such a happy and cheery little girl. She might have been fourteen then, but that hadn't turned her into one of the temperamental, bitchy girls that so many teenagers seemed to impersonate, disregarding the fact that I was in the same age range as aforementioned girls.

Well anyway, Evergreen had been such a carefree girl. And the Hunger Games had changed all of that in a matter of weeks. She hadn't experienced them herself, fortunately, but her brother had. I think that watching one of your loved ones forced to participate in the Hunger Games was worse than being in them. When you're a witness, you have to watch every moment of the Games, knowing that the Gamemakers could kill that person whenever they felt like it. Knowing that there wasn't a thing that you could do about it. But I wouldn't want to be in the Hunger Games either.

For Evergreen, it must have been awful watching her brother be killed on live television. Cedar – her brother – and his ally from District Six had been attacked by a larger alliance. Add to the fact that the opposing alliance had the element of surprise on their side and the two tributes hadn't stood a chance. The District Seven girl that year, Sabrina, hadn't been in the right frame of mind for facing the Hunger Games, having been guided by revenge and anger. I could tell from the start that her main goals would distract her from surviving and I was right.

"No one else cares about the same kinda things that you do," Sasha mutters suddenly, bringing me back to reality, "Mummy says that we're poor and that we have to work very hard with the axe so that we have enough money. I don't see how me pronouncin' things oddly makes much difference to me doing that."

"Yeah Ezmera," Another voice interjects into the conversation rudely, adding childish emphasis to his words, "Maybe you should actually listen to somebody else for once."

Turning around, I find myself looking into the dark brown eyes, eyes that were so similar to mine, of my annoying older brother, Ash. Oh great, what was he doing here? He was hardly one for caring about younger children like I did. Too busy checking out his reflection in the nearest mirror or flirting with anything that moved to care about helping people out like I did.

"What do you want?" I ask, confused at why my self-obsessed, shallow brother would possibly risk his reputation by hanging around me. Like many others in the district, he considered me annoying. The only thing that you could add on to that was the fact that he was embarrassed at having me as a sister. Apparently, I was a great burden to him and his popularity, although I don't think that he was popular based on his personality. If your 'friends' really liked you, then they would still like and hang out with you regardless of how ''irritating'' their family members were. However Ash, being the 'bright, intelligent' spark that he wasn't, didn't take this into consideration and as a result, the two of us didn't really get along.

He rolls his eyes at my greeting, which was less than friendly, "The Reaping's today, in case you forgot, and you're still in your work clothes. There is no way that I'm letting you attend the Reapings looking like that," He nods his head to the admittedly shabby overalls that I was still wearing from working in the local lumber yard. To be honest, cutting down trees for the Capitol to waste on their petty wants wasn't anything that I really wanted to do for the rest of my life. However, I didn't belong to a rich family, so I didn't really have a choice in the matter.

"I had to take Rowan's place at the yard this morning, as you already know," I sigh, "I told you just a few hours ago."

"Well excuse me for forgetting," He replies in an exaggerated manner, clearly not meaning a single word of his apology, "I do have a life outside annoying everybody in the district."

"Oh sure, if flirting with every girl in sight counts as having a life."

A cough from Evergreen prevents Ash from replying, "Me and Cedar used to argue all the time too," I almost flinch at how dejected she sounds. She then stands up and leaves without another word, leaving silence in her wake.

Society truly has broken this girl.

Sasha looks morosely at the space where Evergreen had once occupied, before getting up, "I'm going to see if she's okay," With this, she follows suit and disappears, leaving me with my brother.

He shakes his head mockingly at me, "Tut tut. Look what you've done now."

I roll my eyes at his tactless and clumsy choice of words, "Well actually, it isn't my fault that Evergreen's brother was in the Hunger Games last year. It's technically the Capitol's fault for having the Games in place in the first place, although I'm not entirely sure why they think that's a good idea…"

Ash just stares at me with a dumb expression on his face, if the fact that his mouth was open in a small 'o' provided any insight into his intelligence level, as I continued.

"… because the Games are not actually that effective. Just take a look at Evergreen. Sure, she's heartbroken now, but that's only going to turn into a endless pit of resentment against the Capitol. If the Capitol keep up with this, they're going to end up with a lot of people that are being controlled by their united hatred of the Games, meaning that one day, the Hunger Games will end up being the downfall of the Capitol."

After my short speech about how the Hunger Games don't actually manage to achieve their aims very well, I expect Ash to actually reply with a educated and intelligent answer.

"How poetic of you," He replies sarcastically, "Really Ezmera, you should write that down somewhere."

Or maybe not. But what was I really expecting from the great Ash Hazel? His mind was probably filled with thoughts of his latest girlfriend – or in several cases, girlfriends – instead of anything worthwhile. That's usually where I came in and informed everybody about what they were doing wrong. I didn't even charge for my services. However, nobody ever seemed to appreciate me helping them out, finding me arrogant and pesky. It wasn't intentional, but the stupidity of some people drove me insane sometimes. Just take a look at the Hunger Games. Everybody was well-aware of the fact that the Capitol took pride in their death match, but was having the solid, universal hatred of more than three-quarters of the people that you were governing really a good idea?

"Don't be stupid. Writing down my thoughts would only be wasting paper," I point out, "It's not like I need to remember my opinions on everything anyway, is it? Now come on, if we're going to get ready for the Reapings like you said we were."

Ash doesn't reply, preferring to turn around and storm out of the run-down building that we were currently in. He doesn't say anything else as we walk down the quiet streets that lead to our house, which suits me just fine. It just gives me more time to think over this twist that the Capitol has imposed on us.

If the citizens of District Seven actually had any spark of morality in them, they would have refused to submit to the Capitol's will and not vote to send two of their children off to their death. Come on, the mere idea of willingly _choosing_ children to die in the Games was a horrific one, and yet District Seven had complied without even trying to protest? Without trying to say just how insane this whole thing was? It was disgusting how pathetic the district that I called home was. Just look at how easily the Capitol pushed them around, not expecting to meet any resistance. Well they had been right, unfortunately. Sometimes, I felt ashamed to live in a district that happily let such horrors like the Hunger Games continue and turn a blind eye to them, just so long as it didn't directly affect them. Was this the world that I lived in, was this the attitude that we passed onto our children? Because I hated it.

I didn't hate the actual surroundings, I didn't hate District Seven, what with all of the places that you could go to and be alone. I just found the people that inhabited this place weak and dishonest. This had been proven a hundred times over by myself, where I had to fare the anger of the citizens that couldn't handle the truth when I had given it to them.

Arriving at our house, I open the door and almost immediately lose my balance as my youngest brother, Alec, barges though and throws himself into my arms. Unlike Ash, my little brother is actually nice and friendly. Nobody could ever call him annoying, unlike Ash. Although since everybody else in my district considers _me_ the annoying, rude one of the Hazel family, I probably don't have a right to say that. Not like that was ever going to stop me saying anything if I wanted to.

"Ezmera! Hi!" He manages to squeak out while trying to squashing my ribs in his version of a bear hug. However, he lacks the actual strength to give me a bear hug and he just ends up wearing himself out. When he pulls away, he waves at me, "I have your outfit ready and everything. I picked it out myself."

Alec is so enthusiastic that I feel compelled to smile and thank him for choosing out my Reaping clothes, even though they could very well be the clothes that I get sent off to my death in. However, Alec is unaware of this, this being his first Reaping and everything. Okay, I knew what the Hunger Games represented when I was his age but Alec was a hell of a lot more naïve at twelve years old than I had been.

"Thanks so much, Alec. I was wondering what I was going to wear," I say in a pleasant voice. It wasn't really a lie, since I hadn't actually thought about what I was going to wear, but I doubted that Alec would understand my hatred of dressing up in my nicest clothes for the Hunger Games. He still thought that the Capitol was the place where the fairytale monsters came from, thanks to me. Hopefully, he would never have to go there and find out just how disgusting they really were. If they actually cared for others, they could have used the vast amounts of technology that they possessed to make life in the districts better, but no, they thought that indulging themselves in a fake, pathetic lifestyle that was glorified in bright colours was a better idea. It really was sickening.

Walking up the staircase and opening the door that led to my room, I find the clothes that my youngest brother had picked out; a plaid, red and white dress with short sleeves with a pair of worn brown shoes. Definitely the nicest clothes that I owned, since the overalls that I was currently wearing now happened to be the norm for my wardrobe.

Once I had got the dress on, I grabbed my hairbrush as I set about trying to untangle the mop of dark brown curls that masqueraded as my hair, before reconsidering. Why should I bother extending effort into looking nice for the Capitol? Why should I bother jumping around being the Capitol's little lapdog when I got nothing out of it? It wasn't like they deserved it. Besides, these idiots that are oh-so-affectionately known as Capitolites are too busy trying to rule a country; I'm pretty sure that they could handle me not being ''appropriately dressed'' for their stupid little games.

So why should I do _anything_ for the Capitol?

* * *

**_Ender Nightingale, 18_**

**_District Seven,_**

"Thief!" I hear somebody call out as I quickly run into the narrow alleyway.

It's almost funny how much that one word can irritate me so much. It was a label, a stupid little thing that was tacked on to people without a second thought. The reputation that the word 'thief' had behind it – the image of a evil, scheming criminal that wouldn't hesitate in robbing a passer-by of everything they owned – wasn't something that I would class myself as, and yet this girl had decided to use that term? She didn't even know me. Well, at least I had never talked to her before, and I had only seen her a few times around the district, which was enough times for me to know that she was wealthy. If the fact that she wore rather impractical dresses for District Seven and make-up wasn't a clue as to how rich she was then I didn't know what was. But surely she wouldn't miss the small pouch of coins that I had taken from her, right? I doubted it, but even if she did, she could be reassured that the money in here was going to a good cause, aka, feeding the remainder of my family so that they didn't starve. The mere thought of watching my sister, Sunny slowly turn to a hollow shell of herself, having to witness the deterioration of her innocence, was enough to banish any regretful thoughts I had been harbouring about stealing the money.

But I couldn't really worry about that now. Being too caught up in my thoughts would only end me up in trouble with the Peacekeepers, like my brother had found out personally. Except that he had never kept his thoughts to himself.

The girl's shrieking sends a shot of fear though me, "Somebody help. Some filthy worker," Somehow, she makes the fact that most people in my district have to actually, you know, work for a living sound like a crime. I resisted the temptation to roll my eyes at her words, "Has stolen my purse."

I can hear the uneven pitter-patter of feet as the girl received the attention and help that she wanted. Well, the attention, mostly, since I would be long gone by the time anybody figured out what way I had gone. On the down side, I was probably going to be later home than expected. Well, it wasn't as if I was stupid enough to go back to my house right after stealing something. Who knows if someone was following you? Call me paranoid, but I didn't want to have some annoying informant or Peacekeeper discover my identity and possibly get me publicly whipped or executed just because I had been arrogant and careless enough to think that nobody could find or catch me. That had happened to many a person around here and I was determined that I wouldn't be sharing that fate. Leaving a obvious trail to my house was definitely not going to help me maintain my reputation as one of the anonymous thieves around District Seven. Not that there were many thieves around here.

Sure, there were a few, but they didn't pose much of a problem for the poorer classes. Unless that was because every thief only decided to rob the rich, like I did. What was the point of stealing from people that needed it when you could take a few pennies from the people that can actually live without the things that I took? I really wasn't comfortable with the idea of condemning another family to starvation just to help my family. That seemed counterproductive somewhat, since I wouldn't really be helping as many people as I could do, something that happened to be the main motivation behind my crimes. Helping people. To be more specific, helping my family. I didn't go sneaking around District Seven for the adrenaline rush or because I was trying to make a point against the rich, god no. Actually, I hated doing this, having to survive off the small pickings that I could take from others. It was almost humiliating, having to live off the spare pennies and items that weren't even valuable enough to be stowed away in your home. But when you pitted this against starvation, it wasn't a hard choice.

In any case, I was headed towards the forest, where it would be significantly easier for me to evade anybody that may be following me. Also, I enjoyed picking a tree at random, climbing up it and look at my surroundings. It was quite peaceful, sitting in a tree watching how the natural world continued to grow and evolve without us humans interfering. Observing the subtle movements of the flowers bobbling along to a unheard song in the wind, while the bushes twitched with the occasional rabbit or fox that passed this way. Somehow, it managed to calm me. I supposed that I could do with a bit of time away from civilisation before I had to go back for the Reapings. Especially this year, where we had to choose our tributes. Everyone who was eligible for the Reaping had to pick someone as well, which was even worse. Not only were you at risk of being chosen, but you had to drag someone down with you as well.

I had voted for two random, thirteen year old kids, not because I wanted them in the Games as such, just because it would be highly unlikely that the two of them would amass the most number of votes in this district and therefore me voting for them wouldn't make any difference to their lives. Well, I hoped not, anyway. I really didn't want to be partially responsible for sending anybody into the Hunger Games, no matter how much they may deserve it. After all, I wouldn't want to be taking part in these Games and forcing that fate onto somebody else was just wrong, as well as being hypocritical. But that hadn't stopped everybody else from voting their most hated child in the district in. Well, I was presuming that the majority of people would have picked the person that they disliked the most, although that hadn't been the case with me. Maybe our district had all voted for the kid that they thought could bring them a victor. I wasn't sure which reason was worse; being picked because everybody thought you deserved it, or being chosen because your district had deemed you the most likely to survive while you witnessed the murders of twenty three others. Neither of those options said anything great about what people thought of you, did they?

"Hey, Ender! Over here!"

Really? Did the one friend that I had around here have to give away my location to everyone? Scowling, I whirl around to see Mathias running towards me, looking slightly worn out.

"Could you be any less subtle?" I mutter irritably, quickly putting the pouch of coins inside my pocket while my eyes calmly scan my surroundings, making sure that nobody was giving the two of us weird looks. Not noticing any curious eyes watching us, I turn back to Mathias, who shrugs apologetically.

"I thought that you might want to get ready for the Reaping," He replies casually, not sounding as if he was aiding a thief like me in the slightest. It was a skill that both of us shared; being able to lie easily. Again, it wasn't something that I was entirely comfortable with, but being honest was only going to get you in trouble with the Capitol, something that I couldn't afford to do. If I wasn't around, then I was sure that the rest of my family wouldn't be able to manage on their own.

Giving him a nod in response, I turn around to go back to my house before the Reaping started, with Mathias following suit. It really wouldn't help if the Peacekeepers decided to 'escort' me to the Reaping just because I was late. That definitely wouldn't help me stay relatively unknown among the population of District Seven, which suited me just fine.

I was used to not being known by people, in fact, I preferred it that way. If I was well-known around the district, then it would increase the chances of me being recognised while stealing. If my father and brother were still here, I wouldn't even be in this position in the first place.

"_Mum, what's going on?" I ask querulously, blinking sleep out of my eyes as I looked into the grey eyes of my mother. Grey eyes that were so similar to mine._

_Another bang punctuates my words and the front door shakes slightly from the impact that must have been behind the kick._

_Mum's only response was to hug me closer to her as she glances fretfully at my older brother, Griffin. He had a scowl on his face and he was muttering something that sounded anything but complimentary under his breath. Most of the words that he uttered about the Capitol were anything but nice. Treasonous, even, except that I had grown used to it over the months. Actually, I even agreed with him about the cruelty of the Capitol that governed us. Thanks to them, my father was dead. He had never done anything bad, but that hadn't stopped the Capitol from practically working him to death. It hadn't been too bad at first, but when my father had grown sick, he still had to work. Didn't the Peacekeepers and the Capitol realise that making him do that everyday wasn't going to make him better? Because it hadn't. And now there was never enough to eat and my mother was too busy making sure that we didn't starve to really look after me. The months after my father's death were the loneliest times of my life, with me having nobody to confide in. Even my brother wasn't really there for me, his anger and bitterness at our father's death having overridden his common sense. Gone was the kind, nurturing brother that I had relied on for so long. He had been replaced by a shell of himself, a shell that hadn't realised that free speech wasn't a virtue around here. Or maybe he had known, but hadn't cared to take that into consideration._

_Maybe that was why it seemed like we were being attacked in the middle of the night. Because someone had told the Peacekeepers about Griffin and now they were going to punish him. Scared, I try and move as far away from the door as I could, seeking comfort in my mother's arms. It didn't really make any difference though, as the Peacekeepers finally burst though the doors, guns raised at us._

_Daring to look up at the people that were threatening us, I immediately look away as a shiver runs though me. There's something so off-putting about looking into a spotless faceplate instead of a human face. When you looked into the eyes of a person, you would be able to see if there was any regret, any sadness at doing what they were doing now. Or maybe you could see their malicious pleasure at hurting people. But even that was better than a blank, emotionless faceplate that concealed the wearer's identity. When you watch those anonymous Peacekeepers terrorising other people, you do have to wonder if they really do feel and process emotions like we do._

_One of those anonymous Peacekeepers walks over to Griffin and roughly drags him to his feet. However, this doesn't go down well with my brother and he makes an effort to punch the Peacekeeper, trying to escape from the squad of men that had cornered us in our own home._

_The Peacekeeper just punched Griffin in the stomach, drawing a whimper from me as I flinched, and effectively putting an end to his struggling, "You really need to learn to shut up, boy. Why else do you think we're here?"_

_Griffin's eyes were figuratively boring holes in the reflective faceplate, his eyes darting around in an effort to see past the plastic and into the eyes of his captor. He snarls something at the Peacekeeper, but since he's halfway across the room, I can't hear a word. The mocking laughter of the Peacekeepers isn't helping much. That's when two more of them grab my older brother by his arms and attempt to drag him out. Well, I say 'attempt', but despite the fact that he was frantically kicking and trying to escape, they weren't having much difficulty taking him away from us. Away from me._

_Feeling numb to the core, I watch as the person who I had spent all of my life living with, the person that had endured all the hardships that my family had gone though, was taken away from me to who knows where. All I knew was that Griffin was completely at the mercy of the Capitol now, and he had just bitten the hand that had fed him._

…

Arriving at the planks of wood that made up my house, Mathias decides that now is a good time to depart.

"See you later at the Reapings, Ender, if your mother doesn't kill you first," Those are the 'encouraging' words that he leaves me with, along with a cheeky smile as he runs off. And despite the grim mood that the upcoming Reapings have left on our district, I smile back before entering my house. I did appreciate him a lot, since I tended to end up on my own. And it did get very lonely, when you didn't have anybody else to talk to. Okay, maybe it was my fault, since I wasn't the most sociable, but that didn't mean that I wanted to be on my own all the time. You needed to have someone to talk to, otherwise you might go insane from only having your own dark thoughts for company.

"You're a little bit late, aren't you now?" My mother gently reprimands me as she walks in from the kitchen, giving me a stern look.

"I just happened to run into Mathias on the way home first," I say in a dismissive tone, making sure that I didn't break eye contact with her until she looked away with a slight frown on her face. It wasn't technically a lie, but that hadn't been the only thing that I had been doing that had made me later home than usual.

She just shakes her head slightly at me, "You really need to keep a better track of the time, dear. Your sister is already at the Reaping," Still shaking her head, she hurries back though the door frame. I take that as my cue to find something 'suitable' to wear and quickly run over to where the chest of drawers are, open them and pick out the first items that I can find; a white top and simple black dress pants. Nothing particularly flashy, but it'll do.

As soon as I put them on, I hurry on down to the Reaping, trying to keep my messy bronze hair out of my eyes whilst doing so. It was quite irritating how my hair could interfere and be incredibly inconveniencing to me when it wasn't even long enough to cover my ears. How girls managed to survive with their hair, which sometimes reached their hips, was a mystery to me. Then again, most things that girls did confused me.

The queue for having your blood sample taken is practically non-existent by the time I arrive, which is probably a very bad sign. Actually, I can hear the escort prattling on about how much of an honour it is to be escorting District Seven for this 'exciting' twist as my finger gets pricked. None too gently, either.

"…and I am absolutely certain that you can't wait to find out who the most popular candidates are for this year's twist," She chirps, her unnatural green eyes raking the audience to find one person that 'couldn't wait' for the tributes. Her artificial smile turns sour when she finds nobody, and decides to reap the girl tribute without any further niceties, something that only increases the level of tension in the large group of girls. However, the time she took to walk over to the glass bowl with the one slip of paper in it allows me enough time to slink into the eighteen-year old section for male tributes. However, my eyes still glance around the other boys, looking out for anyone that may be giving me suspicious looks for being late and waiting for an opportunity to call me out for it and draw the attention of the Peacekeepers to me before they decided to punish me as a result of being late …

Okay, I'll admit that isn't very likely to happen, but you never really knew what life was going to throw at you, and this was the Peacekeepers I was talking about here. They would take any opportunity to prove their supposed superiority over us. Some would call me paranoid, but I preferred the term 'careful'.

"And for the girl tribute," The escort then has to pause for a few second as her hand scrabbles around the bowl for the one piece of paper containing the name of the district's most unpopular girl, "We have the fabulous Ezmera Hazel. Now, where is out lucky lady?"

The crowd parts to show a girl who has extremely tanned skin and dark brown curls that happens to be even messier than my own fringe. Her narrow eyes, which are a similar colour to her chaotic curls, are glinting slightly with anger as she makes her way over to the stage. Her eyes look accusingly at the other girls that shy away from her, as if she blames them for her being chosen to take part in the Hunger Games. Sniffing slightly, the escort gives this Ezmera girl a dismissive glance, as if she thought that she wasn't capable of winning the Games. Okay, she wasn't the most muscular or strong, but there was something about her that made me think that she wasn't the weak girl that some people might presume her to be. Maybe it was just the way that her eyes always seemed to be judging everybody, or it could be the determined way that she held herself, not cowering away from the cameras or staring sullenly at them.

"And now, for our wonderful boy tribute," The escort, clearly hoping for a stronger, more attractive tribute than Ezmera, skips over to the other Reaping bowl with another fake smile on her lips. Her eyes take on a almost malicious gleam as she takes out the slip and unfolds it.

"Can I have Ender Nightingale, please?" Time seems to stop as her voice travels across the town square and reach my ears, and I can feel my eyes widening as fear kicks in. My district had willingly picked me to enter the Hunger Games? I was the person that had the most votes, out of every single eligible boy in the district?

I then regain control of myself and attempt to calm myself down. It really shouldn't be that much of a surprise; I might not be the most hated person around, but I didn't exactly have the best reputation among the upper classes. Despite the fact that I had never been caught, I didn't exactly look trustworthy. However, I didn't think that I had been picked _just _because they didn't like me. District Seven wanted a victor out of me or Ezmera. That must mean that both of us stood a chance, right?

But if that was how every district had picked their tributes, how much of a chance did I really have?

* * *

******Did I mention that I'm not doing the Reapings in district order? :P**  


******Next question: which tribute did you prefer out of Ezmera (created by DA Member Hogwarts) and Ender (submitted by SparrowCries) and why? You can see that these questions are so varied, mhm.  
**


	5. Wild Horses - District 10

Quell it with Fire

The First Quarter Quell

District Ten Reapings**  
**

**_Arya Snow, 17  
_**

**_District Ten,_**

There's something satisfying about starting to write on a clean page.

Whenever I decided to cover a clear white piece of paper with the things that occupied my mind, I always felt better. I wasn't sure what it was, but the feeling I got when I saw the words that I had created written down on paper, knowing that my thoughts were now real, now had some physical substance to them instead of existing in my head, was a nice one. Although right now, at this moment in time, I felt like I was in a dream. Legs dangling off the tree trunk that I was sitting in, the wind blowing my tangled, greasy brown hair out of my eyes, caught up in my daydreams – it felt so surreal.

Smiling slightly, I look down at the page or so of the fantasies and dreams that occupied my mind so much.

_Once upon a time, there was a kingdom known as Panem, and in this kingdom, there was a princess known as Arya. Princess Arya. She didn't have a last name; she didn't need one since she travelled around on her own, with nothing but her faithful horse, Snowflake. So her lack of a last name didn't bother her. And the two of them were perfectly happy on their own, galloping around the verdant green kingdom with nothing but the clothes that Arya wore and her sword. Now, Arya was a very beautiful girl, with long, shiny, dark chocolate brown hair and innocent brown eyes. It was hard not to notice her when she graced the streets with her presence, what with her height and the strong aura that surrounded her, commanding your attention. You knew that when she was around, peace and prosperity were not far behind, bringing hopes of a brighter future with them._

But nothing lasted forever, nothing good anyway. Everything that was good disappeared eventually and left nothing behind but misery and memories. I would know, I had known this already but it had only been proved to me four years ago. Wait, had it been four years now? I know that it hadn't happened last year nor the year before, but it was fading like twilight in my mind, the events of that one day blurring together like smudged ink. Smudged like the ink that was drying fast on the page that I had just written on.

_Arya was thirteen when she and Snowflake stumbled into the meaner parts of Panem, known as District Ten. A place where friendship and love were deemed worthless next to deceit and hate. If you tried to speak your mind, the many liars would swarm around you like a swarm of angry tracker-jackers and beat you down to dust. Despite this, Princess Arya tried her best to survive in District Ten. Over time, she realised that the riches that she had been born and raised with meant nothing here. Money would not protect her, on the contrary, such things only seemed to draw the attention of everything bad – jealousy, lies and envy. The glint of a gold coin in the sunlight, the groomed perfection of Arya's horse, even her bold, outgoing personality, marked her out as a target for the others. One day, she came across a cute little child called Mason, a child that Arya felt responsible for. Unfortunately, she failed to protect him from all of the dangers that the world presented._

It was the cattle, just the cattle. None of the events had been my fault, but that wasn't what everybody else thought. I had only borne witness to the rampage that had killed Mason and destroyed my life. Not that I was entirely blameless or anything; I was the girl that had let him on the ranch that day. If I had known that the cattle were insane enough to start a rampage, then I would have never ever let Mason follow me. However, I hadn't been aware of what was to happen and now he was dead.

_That was when her entire life had fallen apart, breaking into fragments of bittersweet memories that were too painful to pick up and reflect on what she could have done to prevent this. Everybody had turned against her, hatred dominating their hearts as they rejected her company and turned a blind eye to her deteriorating condition. Everybody except one, one person with a heart and mind that was untainted by the fog of rumours that had distorted everyone else's vision of her. A young boy, with an innocence that reminded her of the young boy that had been sacrificed by the heavens to curse Arya. That didn't matter now though; nothing seemed to matter anymore but just staying alive, trying not to let the oppressive weight of hatred crush her into dust. The two of them had to resort to stealing to live, but then that boy had then stolen her heart as the two of them had rode off together into a rosy pink sunset, happy as a pair of chirping sparrows in spring._

Wasn't it a nice story? Sure, it was shorter than usual, but it still had enough detail to count. It was too bad that none of the happy events in that snippet had ever happened, far from it. No, I was still here in the slums of District Ten with no Prince Charming, no gallant horse and no brother. Not anymore. Although I never had a Prince Charming around to sweep me off my feet in the first place, neither had I owned a horse, but maybe it was better in the long run. It just meant that I wouldn't have missed those things when they were inevitably taken away.

Once upon a time, I _had_ been rich and prosperous like a princess, gifted with beauty and a natural talent of talking my way out of the many sticky situations that I had found myself in. Nobody was a fan of my unfailing ability to tell people the honest truth, it seems. Even back then, I hadn't been popular, except for the people who only sweet-talked me because of the wealth that my parents possessed. District Ten was not somewhere that you could find honest, well-intentioned people, as I had learned first-hand when I was accused of murdering my own brother. They all thought that I was selfish and twisted enough to get blood on my hands so that Mason wouldn't take over the ranch when he was older. And I guess he wouldn't now, since he was six feet under in my parents' garden; a luxury that I would never receive now. However, I had no blood on my hands and I never had done. Being from a well-off family in the district, I had no need to invest my time in the slaughtering of farm animals.

The only thing that tainted my hands was the omni-present dust and mud that seemed to cover everything pretty here. Nothing new, since I've had three years to get used to living like a wretch. Not even my own family had believed me when I had protested my innocence, and had kicked me out without a second thought. Sometimes, I wondered how they were getting on now that neither of their children were around them anymore. One dead and the other living on the streets. Did they miss the brightness that always seemed to follow Mason everywhere when you saw him? Did they miss all of the childish problems that I had caused as a little child? Probably not, at least, they wouldn't be missing me anyway. You didn't tend to miss the child that you had disowned, as far as I knew.

Most people would care about that. They would care about the fact that their own parents had cast them out of their lives, and maybe it had done at one point, but those times were mere memories of a time that were no good to dwell on. None of those memories were happy or joyful enough for me to remember with a smile – the better memories having been tainted by my brother's death – and besides, my past wasn't going to help me survive on the streets now, was it?

They didn't even feel like my memories anymore. I felt like an observer, looking back on somebody else's life and wondering what went on in their minds. Except that the person is me. Is it a strange feeling not remembering what thoughts were running though your head when you look back on something? Not really; I don't feel like the same person anymore. Three or four years ago, I had been the most outgoing, confident girl that you would have ever met, a girl lucky enough to be unburdened by hardship and pain.

Occasionally, my thoughts would flicker back to reality and I discovered how to become that girl again, but it was a fleeting thing, something that I could never remember how to do that, and being stuck in reality was too painful. That confident girl would say that now, I was just a shell of myself, emptied out and worthless. But you would do the same if you had to face up to those thoughts, those thoughts about me being worthless and twisted and beyond saving, from the rest of 'my' district. How would you fare when you had those insults being repeated in a thousand different voices from a thousand different faces, all merging into one? Not very well. You would have made a shell around yourself, wouldn't you? In order to keep things out. It was a natural animal instinct, and we humans were not exempt from this rule.

No matter how much we tried to distinguish ourselves from every other animal, we still had the same impulses that they did. We still reacted to fear, anger, happiness and misery, just like the cows that the rest of District Ten willingly slaughtered every day. But of course, those cows didn't matter, did they? No, a cow didn't mean anything in the grand scheme of things, not to us. But then again, we didn't mean anything when you looked at the big picture anyway. So why did people think that humans were so much better than every other species of animal that inhabited this world?

I guess I might find out then, I think to myself as I notice another figure watching me from below. The sun was high in the sky and the branches and the leaves from the trees did little to prevent the sunlight streaming down on their figure. It's a boy, I can see that, with dusty brown hair and hazel brown eyes. In his hands are a bunch of white flowers, which he is twirling around absent-mindedly in his fingers. When he notices me staring, his face lights up, like I've just given him a birthday present. Clearly, he doesn't recognise me, otherwise he wouldn't have reacted in such a way. Most people that I saw tended to pelt mud at me, although since most of my arms, legs and face were already smeared with mud, it didn't make much of a difference to my personal hygiene.

Still smiling, he walks over to stand under the tree, "Hi there!" He punctuates his words with an enthusiastic wave as he looks up at me.

It's been a long time since anybody had spoken to me with anything resembling kindness. In fact, I wasn't even sure how you were supposed to reply properly.

Or maybe he was only pretending to be nice in an attempt to disarm me before he attacked with words that would cut deeper than any knife. Unfortunately, it wouldn't be a new experience if that had happened. That was how cruel people could be. And despite my flaws, I wouldn't consider myself a cruel person.

I realised that I had done nothing but stare blankly at this guy for who knows how long, and I try to smile at him. The effort of smiling hurts my lips, since I'm using muscles that haven't been used in a long time. Not to mention that the skin covering my lips were dry and cracked, and trying to smile with them wasn't the most pleasant experience.

He looks at me with concern in his eyes – another thing that few people did when I was around, "Are you okay? You're not nervous for the Reapings, are you? I don't think you have to worry about being picked. You haven't done anything bad."

I have no idea about how he could say this with so much confidence; most of the tributes that entered the arena usually looked as if they couldn't hurt a fly before they showed their true colours. This guy had no idea of who I was, and yet he still thought that he could say something like that. For some reason, his confidence irritates me. It's like he's saying that I can't do anything wrong because I look harmless.

"How would you know?" I ask rudely, his voices sparking some long-buried confidence that had been hidden away inside me, "You don't even know my name, so how would you know if I've done anything wrong or not?"

He just blinks at me, trying to look calm. However, I can see his jaw clench and I know that my questions annoyed him, "I do know you, Arya," The boy puts emphasis on my name, "And I know that you haven't done anything."

Why was this guy acting as if he knew more about my life than everybody else? It was quite irritating, having someone tell you that you were innocent without any evidence. Sure, I was innocent, but who was he to tell me that? I did know more about that incident than he did, "Did you not hear me the first time?" I ask, wishing that he could go away so that I could go back to sitting here peacefully, on my own, "How would you know this? It's not like you were there."

He sighs in defeat, as if he has given up trying to get across his message to me, "I guess you're right," He just says. Abruptly, he adds, "Have a nice day, Arya."

With that, he turns around and jogs straight back into the woods, acting as if our weird little conversation had never happened. It was too bad that his words had done anything but that. Instead of peace, my mind had stirred up bitter memories of the Hunger Games. His presence had reminded me of the days when I had been forced to watch children die horrific deaths on the fancy television that I used to own. Watch as children that I used to know drown, dehydrate, bleed or simply get stabbed to death, year after year after year. Well, that was what had happened four years ago, anyway. To be honest, I hadn't bothered putting any effort into watching people who were younger than me be torn apart on live television, not since everybody had turned against me. Why should I care about the people who detested me so much? Actually, why would you want to watch children that you might have known, that you might have gone to school with or raised, die at the hands of the psychotic Careers or a Gamemakers trap?

Well, I guess it was just the fear of the unknown. Nobody knew what happened when you died, so I guess it did make sense to shy away from it when the opportunity presented itself.

I'm sure that when Death outstretched its hand to me, I'd revert back to that animal-like state of fear as well, reduced to a shaking, crying child that just wants a few more minutes to appreciate the scraps of joy that everyone was given in their lifetime. Fear could do that to you. It was a powerful weapon, and something that pervaded every part of your body when it struck. When that happened, not even the daydreams and stories that I created would help calm me down and reassure me that everything would be fine.

Except that being Reaped wouldn't be all bad. It would mean that I would be allowed to visit the Capitol. Most people that I knew loathed the idea of going there, but I couldn't fathom why. I could still remember the books that my parents owned that had pictures and sketches of the Capitol. When I was a little girl, I had wondered about the possibility of such a colourful, dream-like place existing, but all of the words that the people of District Ten spoke about the splendour of the Capitol had painted a picture of a fairytale land that sounded wonderful. Call me silly for wanting to visit a place based on other peoples' interpretations, but it really did sound like a world where I would be allowed a second chance to live a better life.

I had nothing of worth here, not anymore. All that I really had were dreams, a pen and a notepad to bring them to life.

So why not dream on about the better life that could await me in the Capitol?

* * *

_**Badger Willis, 16  
**_

_**District Ten,**_

Skipping along happily with a bunch of snowdrops in my hands, I take the time to soak up the sun rays that were pouring though the gaps in the canopy. The light was being reflected off the vibrant green leaves and bushes, making them appear to glow subtly. In fact, the entire forest seemed to be bathed in warm green-yellow light, like a summer's mist had settled in between the trees. This alone gave my surroundings an inhuman, alien quality to it. In the afternoon sunlight, you could see the beauty of the forest in all its glory. Luscious red, pastel blue and pure white flowers were scattered around the forest like confetti, providing splashes of colour that contrasted with the hard-packed mud. Dead leaves and twigs entwined together to make up the forest floor, with the occasional centipede scuttling along the floor, playing hide-and-seek in the crinkled leaves. All of those things came together to form a picturesque location that should never be spoilt. Unfortunately, there was one thing that was threatening to ruin this peaceful, relaxing environment.

The Reaping.

Yeah, something like that was enough to ruin your day. The mere thought of having to attend something so horrifying was enough to bring me to a halt. Well, I guess that nobody liked having to attend the event where two children were sent off to their deaths. It had been twenty five years since the Hunger Games had been introduced and they had represented nothing but death for every one of the children that had been picked in District Ten. Last year hadn't been an exception, with both of our tributes being beheaded by the same Career in the bloodbath. That Career had almost won the Hunger Games, although her killer was just as despicable as she had been. Both tributes had been decent, kind people, not like the Careers. But now, just a scant year after their deaths, not a single person cared to recall their names. They – Evanlyn and Jack – were just two of the children that had been sacrificed by the Capitol, and nobody even seemed to notice. Both of them were forgotten, having faded away from everybody's memories, and nothing would ever bring them back.

_Why should you care then? _A snide voice whispers inside me, _They brought it upon themselves, being so weak. _

I shake my head in denial, trying to clear my head of these twisted, depressing thoughts. Usually, I would be in high spirits, but I guess that the thought of the district actively choosing their own tributes would be enough to sour my mood. And I had already figured out which girl was going to be chosen for this year's Games. Arya.

It's common knowledge that she was the girl that supposedly pushed her own brother in front of a stampede of cattle, but I didn't think that story was entirely true. Seriously, nobody was mean enough to kill off a ten year old kid on purpose, right? I've been around for sixteen years, and I've never met any people horrid enough to even consider doing something like that. Besides, she didn't seem like the type to just kill someone out of spite when I had ran into her earlier. Actually, she had just seemed defensive, like she wasn't fond of having people talk to her. If that was the case, then it wasn't terribly surprising since I doubted that anybody had ever said anything nice to her before. In any case, there wasn't anything that I could do to help her. The district had deemed her as evil and past saving, and there was nothing that I could do to help her now.

I could only hope that the actions that I had done weren't bad enough to condemn me to that fate alongside her. Because while Arya might not have killed anyone, I couldn't say the same.

"_This is your fault!" _

_That whisper was enough to make me jump. You couldn't hear anything else but the distant thudding of feet against the ground, which was quiet enough to fade away into background noise. However, it was enough for me to risk climbing up the haystacks and onto the rafters of the barns. Why? Because those 'feet' were actually signalling a stampede of cows that were currently on the loose. I had no idea how it happened, or why, but I knew that if I didn't get out of the way, they would come for me._

_It seemed that I wasn't the only person who had this idea, and now I was face to face with someone that I didn't even know, since their figure was hidden in the shadows that the roof was casting over us. It wasn't everyday that somebody accused you of making these cattle insane, so it was no surprise that I didn't take to his words very well._

"_Excuse me?" I ask, feeling my temper start to flare up. Funnily enough, being cooped up here while a herd of rampaging cattle ravaged your district a mere twenty or so feet below you wasn't really the best way of putting me in a good mood._

_The boy – I was presuming that he was a boy, judging by the deep tones of his voice – moves out of the shadows slightly, glaring malevolently at me with dark blue eyes, "You heard me," He snaps, his voice louder than it had been ten seconds ago, "This is your fault. If it hadn't been for you stamping around the barn, the cattle would have moved on by now and I would be fine. But thanks to you, I'm trapped here until they decide to go away. And you didn't even bother to shut the doors."_

_Unfortunately, he would be correct. In my haste to find a safe place to hide, I had forgotten to shut the barn doors, meaning that the cattle could run though here at any time and we were powerless to stop them. At least it was impossible for them to follow us up here; cows were not well-known for being good at climbing._

"_Well how was I supposed to know?" I practically snarl, glaring at him petulantly, "I don't know about you, but I don't like being chased by a herd of cattle either." _

"_Go and find your own hiding place. This is my place, not yours." Then he shuffles towards me, as if he's actually planning on shoving me off the rafters. _

_I stare at him, unsure of wherever he's being serious or not, "Are you kidding me? Where am I supposed to go now?"_

"_I don't know, anywhere but here."_

_His voice was dismissive, as if it didn't matter that trying to escape from this barn could end in my death, just as long as he got this stupid barn all to himself. Anger burned away in my stomach, bitter like a hot wind. How could somebody be so selfish? _

"_Are you an idiot? Do you really think that I'd be able to survive being trampled by cows?" I snap, considering pushing him off his perch. Not because I particularly wanted him to be hurt, just because I wanted to show him that trying to escape from here wasn't as simple as he made it seem._

_He opens his mouth to retort, a smug look on his face that irritates me even further. Even after I had explained to him bluntly that there was no way that I would be able to get out of here unscathed until someone managed to regain control of the cows, he still had some rude, illogical comment ready for me? How was that even possible? Narrowing my eyes at him, I launch myself forward, aiming to shove him off the rafters and the pedestal that he seemed to place himself on. Unprepared for my attack, he stumbles backwards and falls like a pebble downwards. He hits the floor with a sickening thud, his head snapping back against the floor like a doll._

_I scrutinise him closely, observing him for any signs of life, seeing if his chest moved up and down from breathing or if his eyes were ready to flutter open. None of those things happened. _

_Was he dead? My anger immediately dissipates, to be replaced by guilt. What the hell had I been thinking when I had pushed him? What am I thinking; of course I hadn't been thinking before I had done that, I had just been mad at his persistent attempts to get me to leave him alone. And I had killed him without a second thought._

That incident hadn't gone unnoticed, much to my misfortune. Since the cattle had prevented me from running away, I had still been at the scene of the crime when the owners of the barn had eventually arrived. Needless to say, they thought that I had killed the boy. Well, I had, so I couldn't exactly get mad at them for informing the authorities about it. Despite that in mind, I still felt a wave of bitterness every time I thought of those oh-so-innocent farmers dragging me off to be whipped publicly. How was that penance for his death? It wasn't like I still had the whip marks on my back or anything; it had happened years ago.

And today could be the day that karma finally decided to get payback.

…

"And now, I present you with District Ten's newest escort, Shrike Landau. As is customary with our district, we shall give him a warm welcome for having the difficult task of picking the two children that have already been chosen to participate in this year's Hunger Games." The mayor's voice drips with sarcasm as she glares at the Capitolite skipping up the stairs to the stage in animal-print high-heels. Yes, high-heels. Despite the fact that he was a male – apparently – he was wearing four-inch high-heels and his hair was tied up in a stylish ponytail. This look was completed with a pair of zebra-print leggings and a loose black top. And I thought that last year's escort was bad enough.

The mayor's sarcasm escapes the notice of the strange-looking escort, who immediately launches into their opening speech, "Welcome, welcome, to the Reapings for District Ten. I am Shrike Landau, as your lovely mayor has already said, and I have been bestowed with the honour of choosing the two tributes that are lucky enough to have been personally chosen by their own district. Isn't that exciting?"

His enthusiasm at the fact that we had to choose who was taking part in the Hunger Games makes me want to punch him and show him what being in the Games was really like. Lets see him jump around excitedly chirping on about how great the Games really are when I taught him that fighting wasn't the glamorised thing that people thought it was when they saw it on the television. How stupid did you have to be to think that getting injured because of a needless fight was a good thing?

Oblivious to my thoughts, Shrike continues on with his irritating squealing, "And now, it's the moment that you have all been waiting for. Why yes, it's time to reveal who our wonderful female tribute will be."

Oh, I just _loved_ how he refers to this girl as a 'female tribute', instead of a human girl. Maybe it was his way of escaping the horrors of the Games, by detaching himself from us by pretending that we aren't human, that we deserve whatever fate the Gamemakers unleash upon us.

The clicking of his high-heels against the wooden stage brings me back to reality as Shrike trots over to the bowl with the name of the unlucky girl in it. Picking it up, he waves it around before unfurling it.

"And the chosen female is…Arya Snow!"

The crowd of girls in the female section parts to reveal a rather tall and skinny girl who had a mop of dirty brown hair obscuring her features. I didn't really have to try and find her, since she literally stood out head and shoulders over the other girls. Besides, it was no surprise that she had been picked out of every eligible girl in the district, so I didn't really feel the need to crane my neck to get a glimpse at her.

The girls surrounding Arya glares at her as she casually shrugs her shoulders and walks up to the stage. She doesn't seem to be bothered in the slightest at the fact that our district had chosen her. On the contrary, she seems almost happy about being picked, if the fact that she was whistling a tune as she shuffles her feet up to the stage was any insight into her thoughts about being chosen. I knew that I'd never be able to keep a straight face if I was Reaped. Well after today, I would only have two more Reapings to endure before I was safe. However, it was today that I really had to worry about. But surely District Ten must have someone who deserved this more than I did, right?

"For our male, we have…Badger Willis."

Any sarcastic response I may have had to Shrike calling out that name flies out of the window as my mind goes blank.

I had been the chosen one? The one that everyone had deemed the worst out of everyone in District Ten? Surely not. It had only been an accident, I hadn't intended for him to die, and it had happened years ago. Surely someone would have done something worse than accidentally push a boy to their death in that time, right? Okay, it hadn't been accidental, but I hadn't meant to kill him. Was I really the person that everyone considered to be the most twisted?

Everybody's eyes are set upon me, hatred having possessed their frail bodies like spirits as whispers start to blossom among the crowds. Too afraid to meet anybody's eyes, I reluctantly shuffle to the stage. It was clear that everybody considered sentencing me to certain death was a fair punishment. Yes, I said certain. Even if my body survived, my soul would forever be smothered by the crimes that I would no doubt commit in order to win. Having to kill people in cold blood, knowing that they were going to have to die in order for me to win, and slowly learning not to regret it. I guess what was even worse was the fact that you didn't have enough morals to not play the Hunger Games the Capitol way.

_I've already lost the Hunger Games before they've begun. I'm already dead._

* * *

**Sorry for the long update, but I've been pretty busy writing for some collaborations. Feel free to check them out if you want to (links are on my profile page) :)**_  
_

**And guess what I'm going to ask you next? Yes, which tribute out of Arya (created by jakey121) and Badger (created by mrspeetamellark55) was your favourite, and why? And feel free to guess at what district's next ;P  
**


	6. In Hot Water - District 4

Quell it with Fire

The First Quarter Quell

District Four Reapings**  
**

**__****Ros Messina, 17**

**__****District Four,**

"Aw, that's nice."

Whipping my head around, I guiltily hide the little sculpture that I had been constructing behind my back while wondering if this girl had seen what it was. It wasn't as if I had been making a bomb to destroy the Capitol or anything, but somehow, making random sculptures out of net didn't really go with the tough, arrogant Career that everybody else thought I was. Not that the reputation was completely undeserved, but I didn't consider myself a Career._ I_ actually had better things to do than waste my time training everyday.

Nope, I didn't train. I much preferred pursuing the calm, peaceful life that I lived now. Well, when I was on my own, anyway. People didn't feel the need to burden you with their expectations and feelings when they couldn't find you. However, that feeling of seclusion had been shattered by those three words that this girl had uttered, which had ruined the good mood I had once been in. Hence, I wasn't exactly going to be nice to the girl that had single-handedly ruined my day by arriving, although there was some debate about the fact that I was _never_ nice to anybody.

"What are you doing here?" I reply defensively, narrowing my eyes at her. Sure, I didn't own this place, but nobody else went here, so I didn't see why today would be any different, "Are you lost?"

Secretly, I was hoping that she would say yes. I hadn't encountered this girl before and judging by the smile that was still gracing her face, she didn't know who I was either. Well she couldn't do; hardly anybody else that recognised me on the streets would smile at me the way that she was doing now. Most people were too busy trying not to get noticed by me to bother. It was actually quite funny how people reacted when I decided to make eye contact with people, the way that they would get the nervous, rabbit-in-the-headlights look as they realised I was paying attention to what they were doing. Anybody would have thought that they were scared of me.

Well, chances are that they were, although they would be right in being wary of me.

For a second, the girl's eyes widen at the hostility in my voice before reverting back to their normal state. Then she dares to smile back at me, the skin around her green eyes crinkling slightly. Was she mocking me? The fact that she didn't seem to be intimidated by my presence here was insulting enough.

"No, I'm not lost, but thanks for asking," she replies in an irritatingly chirpy voice, practically skipping over to me, "And what were you making there?" I open my mouth to tell her that it's none of her business, but she continues to talk, "Is it a daisy chain? I love making those. There's something so nice about the little white petals."

Still smiling, she sits next to me, plucks two daisies from the grass and begins to tie them together, humming a unfamiliar song whilst doing so. For some reason, this annoys me. Maybe it's how she refuses to be cowed by me. It wasn't as if she looked physically strong or anything, what with her skinny stature, but she was several inches taller than me. Not that being taller than me was an accomplishment or anything.

I laugh at her words, "No, why would I want to waste my time doing that?"

Never mind the fact that I had been making a bracelet out of a stray piece of net that I had found. I happened to like creating new objects out of the scrap parts that others had deemed obsolete. There was a certain joy attached to doing such a thing, a certain pride that one experienced when you constructed a useful, prized object out of trash. It took some skill to turn discarded, useless items into something that was worth something, and it was a skill that I valued. There weren't many others around District Four that could make a work of art out of scrap tin, pencils, seashells or paper clips, although not many of them wanted to. Apparently, training for the event that could kill you was considered more productive. Despite the fact that they were supposedly 'prepared' for the Hunger Games, hardly any of the Careers knew how to build shelters in the wild, nor could they tell the difference between a blackberry and a pokeweed berry.

Yeah, they were _really_ prepared, weren't they? It didn't matter anyway; what were the odds of me being Reaped without some brain dead brute volunteering? Especially this year, where one of aforementioned brutes had probably campaigned for the most votes. You could still see the posters of eighteen year old boys with smirks on their faces and a message underneath telling the reader to vote for that person. It was laughable; it seemed that many in my district would do anything for a cheap shot at fame.

Luckily, I wasn't one that needed to resort to such extremes, already being rich and fairly well-known. The Capitol liked prying into the lives of the victors and I had learnt this first-hand when the overly perky reporters interviewed my mother when the Reapings happened. It had been like that for twenty one years ever since she had been Reaped for the Games and had won. Her experiences in the Fourth Hunger Games had been far from pleasant, since she had almost been suffocated to death when the cave she was in collapsed on her, not to mention the time when her district partner shoved her into a fire when the Careers had split up. She barely managed to get out before her injuries became too fatal, but the burns that she accumulated from that incident had been horrific. And I had seen them on national television, so I couldn't even begin to imagine what being burned so severely must have been like in real life.

The stranger's voice brought me back to reality, "Well, you never know," she says playfully, "I mean, it's not like you can tell what people like doing from their appearance," she flicks her blonde ponytail as she giggles, "It's not like anybody would have guessed that you don't train like most do." Tutting, she waggles a finger disapprovingly.

"What are you, my mum?" I snap, annoyed at her impudence. This girl really was something, and I meant that in a bad way. She acted like I was her friend, meaning that she wasn't taking me seriously. In fact, she was probably mocking me. Either that, or she really was a naïve idiot. Probably the second option: she was still giving me her dopey smile and hadn't taken the hint to shut up and leave. So maybe I should make her.

Oblivious to my thoughts, she continues to prattle on, "Well I've never seen you before in the training centre, and no offence or anything, but you do have a pretty distinctive appearance."

The girl continued to ramble on about how she had been in the training centre for years and had never met me before, but I was still reeling from the casual, offhand comment she had made about my appearance. What she had just done was make a blatant reference to my hair, which I liked to call a strawberry blonde colour. However, most people in my district thought that the term 'ginger' was a more appropriate way of describing it, and they didn't spare a thought as to how I would feel before they decided to open their mouths and enlighten me to this fact over and over and over again. None too nicely, either. My appearance wasn't helped by my less-than-intimidating height and pale skin that refused to tan no matter how many times I went outside. I wasn't even that well-built, although I liked to think that the muscle that I had gained from years of swimming and generally being outdoors in the woods was enough to draw the attention away from my other, less-attractive features. Unfortunately for me, I had not inherited my father's blond hair, stocky build or height, which would have surely meant that the mocking comments I had endured when I was younger would never have happened.

Anger begins to boil away at me as I recall every mocking, harsh word that they had said to me. It wasn't a unfamiliar emotion, since most people seemed hell-bent on irritating and scorning me, so it didn't worry me. On the contrary, it should be this girl who should be feeling worried.

"Could you just shut up?" I interrupt her mid-sentence, although I had been paying no attention to the sounds that her mouth was making, "I don't care."

That was a lie, since her remark that was obviously meant to be an insult had stung. Why should I let her know that it had affected me though? That was the equivalent of begging her to taunt me further, which I didn't want, funnily enough.

She's about to make some stupid, insignificant comment back, I can tell, but one steely glare from me is enough to make her reconsider. Instead, she just stares at the ground like a little child while she mutters, "I'm sorry, I was just pointing that out. It wasn't meant to be mean, honestly."

"Well sorry just isn't good enough," I sneer, taking this opportunity to scorn her back, "You really think that's going to make it all better?"

If she had a response to that, I didn't get the chance to hear it as I shoved her over into a patch of flowers, smirking as she gasped in surprise. I had gotten mud and grass stains on her purple dress, but really, she deserved it.

"Have a nice day. Don't get Reaped." Giving her a mean smile, I turn around and start jogging down the path that led to the houses that made up Victor's Village. It wasn't exactly the best neighbourhood to live in, since most of the dozen houses that were neatly arranged in a circle were empty, and the other victors that lived here were not the most sociable.

Sure, this area boasted the nicest housing that you could get in District Four, but you kind of got used to it after a while. There was nothing to do and nobody else to talk to outside my family. Speaking of family, my father happened to be waiting outside my house, a forced smile on his face as he watches me make my way back home.

"You ready yet?" He asks kindly, "You don't want to be late now for the Reaping, do you?"

I try not to roll my eyes at his stupid question. Most people I knew didn't tend to jog around in their Reaping outfits unless they wanted to look untidy when they inevitably tried to volunteer, and the clothes I was donning now happened to be lightly dusted in dirt. Anyone could have gathered that attending the Reaping had been the last thing on my mind when I had picked out my attire this morning. Of course my father knew that I wasn't ready; he had probably only asked to remind me that I needed to look presentable.

"I've only just returned home. Give me a break!" I snap, pushing past him rudely. A restraining hand on my shoulder prevents me from going any further.

"Now now Ros, is that any way to treat your father?" He asks me, his voice still calm. It's just one of the many ways that I differ from him. My father thinks that hiding your feelings behind a mask was the way forward, but I didn't follow this mantra. Why couldn't you feel and do whatever you wanted? What was stopping me, anyway?

"No _sir_," Even an idiot could tell that I wasn't being sincere, "A son must be respectful and polite to his father, sir."

He gives me a look that conveys his disapproval of my words, "Ros, if you act like that at the Reaping, you'll be in big trouble when you get home."

"Ooh, I'm quaking in my boots," I reply sarcastically, "No seriously, you're terrifying," I decide to sober up as I continue, "Who cares what I do at the Reaping anyway? It's not like I'm going to get picked."

It was true; the odds of me being Reaped were minuscule. An increasingly large proportion of the District Four population were training, while the majority of the non-Careers were poor and had to resort to taking out tesserae like the lower-Districts. As for me, I was somewhere in the middle. I didn't feel the need to waste my life training, but I was certainly superior to the poor fools that were widespread in the Districts. Besides, if the escort did pick my name, chances are that one of aforementioned Careers would willingly take my place. The Games were hardly anything that I really needed to worry about.

_That wasn't what happened last year._ A snide voice whispers in my mind, _There wasn't a volunteer for the girl, was there? And look what happened to her._

Scowling to myself, I try and banish this thought from my mind, along with the gruesome image of the girl's demise. She had it coming, what with her simply presuming that her opponent was weapon-less and unable to defeat her. She had been weak, something that I _couldn't_ be. Besides, that had been last year. Surely someone would be making an effort to get picked this year, right?

My father just shakes his head, "I wouldn't be so sure about that," he says condescendingly. In a more commanding voice, he continues, "Make sure you're ready for this year's First Quarter Quell. You have a reputation to live up to, believe it or not." With this, he disappears back inside our spacious house.

I hated the way that he says that, like I'm not even worthy of being considered his son because I can't live up to his expectations. Okay, I wasn't exactly the role model of what somebody should be, but a little bit of praise wouldn't hurt from time to time.

Grumbling to myself at my self-assured, pushy father, I follow him into the house to find suitable clothes for today. Unlike most people, I wasn't going to wear the boring training suits that practically every other wannabe Career wore so that it didn't restrict their movements when sprinting to the stage, oh no. I happened to be in the mood to mock the other children in this district, and that meant wearing impractical clothing. What better way to prove that I was better than everyone else than to look the part and act like I didn't even need to bother with anything as ridiculous as volunteering?

The fact that I wouldn't even be acting was only a plus side.

…

Twenty minutes later, I was ready in the outfit that would be guaranteed to draw everybody's attention to me, hopefully in a good way. For starters, I wasn't even wearing a shirt. The sight may not be uncommon around here, where the weather was usually quite humid and hot, but the possibility of having anybody attend the Reapings without a top was far less likely. Mind you, the main reason that I wasn't bothering with one was because my perfectly toned chest would be more than enough to distract everybody from my less desirable features, mainly the hair. My pants were pressed against my legs like a second skin and were a metallic dark blue colour, made to resemble fish scales. A pair of matching boots, a seaweed crown that partially obscured my hair and a elaborate golden trident complete the look. Some people would call it extravagant, but since when was being extravagant considered a bad thing?

"I love your outfit!" That's the only warning I get before I almost get knocked down into the carpet by my sister, Lucia. She quickly gives me a hug before stepping back with a concerned frown playing on her lips; probably wondering wherever she had messed up my outfit or not. I must have passed her assessment as she grins at me,"You really going to turn up at the Reaping like that?" Lucia giggles as she twirls one of her light brown curls. Her outfit is less distinctive than mine; a dark green dress that was an obvious attempt at resembling seaweed and covered her legs. It matched her green eyes, but did little to emphasise her appearance.

I stick my tongue out at her playfully as I hurry downstairs, "Why wouldn't I?" I inquire with mock innocence.

Lucia just laughs again as she follows me down the stairs, "Well it's not like many people wear stuff like that to the Reaping." She points out, admiring the trident I was using as a prop. Her temporary distraction at what I was holding leads to her tripping over her dress, meaning that she ends up crashing into me. Luckily, she doesn't end up being pressed against the carpet, but I couldn't say the same thing, and it was far from pleasant to have your chin be forced into the floor by your sister.

"Are you okay?" Lucia squeaks, scrambling to her feet while sounding worried. I don't know why she was the one being concerned over me; it was supposed to be my job to look after her. After all, I could take care of myself and I didn't want anybody's sympathy or pity. Lucia, however, was a different story. She still retained some of her childhood innocence although she was only two years younger than I, and I didn't want her to be hurt due to that.

"Sure, I'm fine," I reply dismissively, brushing the dust off my trousers. My chin wasn't feeling the best from being pressed into the floor, but that was irrelevant, "What about you?"

"Oh sure, I'm fine as well," She waves a hand in the same off-hand tone that I had used, but I keep a close eye on her regardless. It was entirely possible that she was pretending that whatever minor injuries she had acquired weren't bothering her. In any case, she didn't seem to be in any state of trouble, aside from her dress being crinkled slightly. Lucia notices this and lets out an outraged gasp as she tries to fix it. I roll my eyes at this, but help her out anyway. As long as Lucia was unharmed, then I didn't need to worry.

Not that I ever needed to worry about anything; I lived a perfectly happy life here, didn't I? It wasn't as if I was burdened by financial worries or anything, neither were any of my family at risk. Sure, I wasn't exactly the best with school or any of that academic stuff, but only the poor, untrained losers in my district had to worry about that, so that was hardly a big issue.

If only I could live up to my father's expectations, then I would be the happiest kid in the world.

* * *

**_Brenna Fairbain, 16_**

**_District Four,_**

"Here, kitty kitty." I coo reassuringly to the scrappy grey cat that was looking at me cautiously. I knew full well from experience just how skittish this tabby cat could be, and I made an effort to appear non-threatening. Well, it was unlikely that I needed to try, since I was pretty short for my age and unlike some of the people in my district, I wasn't all bulked up with muscle either. Actually, I was as skinny as a twig, with gangly limbs and dull skin. Hardly the epitome of 'threatening'.

Tentatively, it makes its way over to me before looking at me with its yellow eyes. I took this as a sign that it wanted to be petted and I tickle the cat's ear. Although I had played with this cat for several years, I still didn't know what its real name was. Heck, I didn't even know the cat's gender, but I liked to think that it was a girl, just so that I had _one_ creature to confide in. Just in case it was a male though, I had given it an androgynous name; Purrboots.

She – as I liked to think of her – didn't belong to me, although it was doubtful if my parents would allow me to have a cat anyway. Purrboots already had a faded denim collar around her neck, indicating that somebody else already owned her. Whoever it was didn't seem to be the most adept at looking after animals, if the tangled grey fur that barely covered Purrboots' prominent ribs were any clue. Surely they wouldn't mind me looking after their adorable little kitty, would they? It wasn't as if I meant Purrboots harm.

Purrboots pads over into my lap and stretches, eliciting a giggle from me. Her fur wasn't exactly nice to stroke or anything, but you could feel the warmth coming from her, which was some relief on this frigid cold day. I guess lying down on the beach with nothing blocking the wind from colliding into me didn't help, but I wasn't too bothered. My fears about today overpowered any discomfort that I may be feeling now.

Today was the Reaping Day.

It wasn't any ordinary Reaping either. Today, I would get to find out which two people had been singled out by my district to enter the Hunger Games, and I was terrified. It was entirely possible that it could be me that had the most votes and I really _really_ didn't want to enter the Games. Some people my age might aspire to win the Hunger Games one day, but at the moment, I didn't count myself among them. What was so fun about killing people, anyway? How was snuffing out a human life any different from beheading a dummy? What was it about killing that appealed to so many of my fellow citizens?

It could be the fact that none of them really knew what killing was like. Maybe the Capitol had drilled it into their minds that killing was this amazing, glorious, patriotic thing that should be celebrated and that was how they perceived it to be _before_ they actually ended a life. Maybe, after they realised that they were killers, they regretted having an innocent child's blood on their hands, but realised that there was nothing they could do about it now. I mean, Careers were still humane under their arrogant exteriors, right? Surely it wasn't possible that my District could produce such heartless people in just twenty five years, was it? They were still familiar with empathy, weren't they?

My brother couldn't have been like them. He couldn't have been.

"_You lose."_

_Those meaningless two words are the only send-off Marsh gives the District Twelve girl before he kneels down to her trembling figure and slits her throat. The resulting cannon fire almost renders his voice obsolete, but the cameras still manage to pick up on his words. His facial features are carefully controlled – his green eyes blank, his body language relaxed – as he casually wipes the bloody knife on his trousers. For a second, I think I see him clench his jaw a little too tightly, but before my eyes get the chance to pick up on this minute detail, he's back to the confident Career that he had turned into seemingly overnight as Marsh smirks arrogantly at his ally. And I didn't get it. _

_Where had my carefree, playful brother gone?_

_Marsh hadn't acted like he was all that when the escort had called his name. That's right, he had been Reaped, unlike most of the Career tributes. Even his district partner, the girl who was now laughing with him on the television, had volunteered. Apparently, the one-and-only Yasmin Rivet of District Four was already the victor of the Sixteenth Hunger Games, or so she had claimed, all bright and bold, when she had made her way to the stage._

_Marsh hadn't acted like that, and he said that he wouldn't do. He said that he wouldn't let the Capitol change him into something that he wasn't. He said that he was coming back and that everything would be fine and dandy. _

_Marsh wouldn't lie to me, would he? I may have only been seven back then, but I was totally mature enough to handle the truth. He wouldn't lie to me anyway – he never had done, so why had he backtracked on this? _

_I can feel a stray tear crawling down my cheek as I silently mourn the District Twelve girl, whose name will always remain unknown to me. It wasn't as if I had known her or anything, seeing as I had never met her, but I still felt sad anyway. She had been thirteen years old, but her general niceness had led me to believe that I could have been friends with her if she had lived in my district. That wasn't ever going to happen now. She was dead, she was dead and I didn't get why this girl had to die. _

_What had she ever done to anybody?_

_The harsh voice of Marsh's district partner, Yasmin, brings my attention back to the giant screen that was projected in the middle of the town square. Usually, I would have watched the Games back at home, where I could hide from the horrible events in Mummy's lap. However, the television was broken, so we had to resort to going to the public square, where the constant buzz and noise of people didn't allow for me to openly wail at my brother being in the monstrous Hunger Games. Instead, I had to settle for little, constant whimpers and sniffles at the deaths that the Games provided. Some of the older kids, the ones who looked like they could squash me with their muscles, were giving me funny looks. I wasn't sure why they were giving me weird looks, but their narrow eyes and clenched fists made me nervous, so I had sought comfort and protection within my parents' arms._

"_You know Marsh, I really do think that you have a chance at this," Yasmin says suddenly, her voice conversational as she twirls around her sword._

"_Really?" My brother's voice is sceptical. Despite how well Marsh was doing for a reaped tribute, what with his training score of eight and ability to charm the Capitol audience, he still seemed to possess reservations as to how well he would do in the Games._

"_Yeah, really," she puts mocking emphasis on the last word as she sneers at Marsh, "You must have a lot of nerve, taking my kill like that," Marsh opens his mouth to object, but she waves a hand to silence him, "That's why you're going to pay now."_

_Before he gets a chance to react, Yasmin turns towards him and thrusts the sword though his thigh. He lets out a yelp as he collapses to the ground, caught off-guard by Yasmin's sudden attack. A vicious kick to his head causes him to let out another wail. Yasmin just smirks, "Not so tough now, are you?"_

_Marsh desperately tries to scramble away from his district partner, but she just takes out a knife from her jacket and stabs it though his leg carelessly, pinning him to the ground. The grin on her face makes me feel sick._

"_Aw, come on now, Marsh," She taunts as she restrains Marsh's arms before waving her sword in front of his face, revelling in the terror that flashes across his features, "Don't you want to play?"_

_Marsh doesn't answer to her teasing, thinking that pleading was a better alternative, "Please Yasmin, at least make it quick."_

_She just snorts at this, "No way. That girl was supposed to be my kill. I would have actually given the Capitol a show," she pouts at Marsh, "You didn't even make her death interesting."_

"_Yasmin – " His pleas are cut off as she proceeds to stab her sword into his left arm, painting her sword in red. Grinning viciously, she slowly twists the sword that was still embedded in his arms, eliciting a full-blown scream from my brother._

_It was that scream that snapped me out of the numb state that I must have been in, and it takes my mother shaking me to realise that I was also wailing. Tears were running down my face as I try and comprehend what was happening in front of me. My own brother was being tortured._

_No! How was this fair? Marsh was about to die right in front of me, and yet I was too far away to do anything about it. I couldn't do anything to prevent Yasmin from hurting him._

_Why was this happening?_

_What had either of us done to deserve this? Marsh might have killed someone, but he hadn't drawn it out like Yasmin was doing now. He didn't deserve to die this way. Marsh's death shouldn't have been reduced to just another plot twist on national television._

_And why was I being subjected to watching my own brother writhe around for the amusement of his district partner? I had never done anything to deserve this, nothing that I could remember anyway. The only bad thing that I had ever done was break one of Mummy's cups, and that had been an accident. I guess there was also that time when I had pushed Marsh down the stairs, and when I had left Purrboots in the rain._

_Well now that I thought about it, I had done lots of things that I shouldn't have done, but they weren't bad enough to have my brother killed, were they? _

_Still crying, I glance up at the screen for a second. It was a mistake. Illuminated on the screen in sickening detail was the bloody remains of what had once been my brother. Everything was red, a horrid, vibrant red that suffocated the once-scenic arena. I let out another sob as my parents covered my eyes, trying to protect what remained of my innocence. Unfortunately, they were too late._

_I couldn't handle the truth back then – I couldn't take in the fact that Marsh was never coming back again, but _she_ could._

* * *

**_Kieran "Brenna" Fairbain, 16_**

**_District Four,_**

The mangy tabby cat backed away slowly as I stood up, its fur bristling as it assessed me. I give it a mean smile and kick some of the sand in its direction. It takes the hint and scrambles away from me as fast as its paws can carry the thing. That dumb animal was so pathetic, it wasn't even worth the bother of bullying it. However, the thought of making that 'cute' little kitty pay for bothering me was a tempting one. Wouldn't it be fun to see how fast the kitty could run when one of its back legs were broken? It was a shame that I didn't have anything to use as a knife, otherwise that cat wouldn't have gotten away unscathed.

Why had it even been here, anyway? Last time I checked, cats avoided the beach and the ocean like the plague. Not that I was concerned for the welfare of anything that didn't involve me, but I didn't really want my district to become infested with these pests. We already had enough of those in the form of the oh-so-mighty Careers that paraded around the District, thinking that all they would need to achieve success in life were their muscles. Intelligence never seemed to feature into the equation, which only made me more irritated when I got compared to them.

Of course, I regularly visited the Training Centre to improve my skills, but that didn't mean you could just stereotype me as one of the dumb idiots that I worked with. Sure, I could wield weapons just as well as they could, but I could still have some measure of intelligence inside me and not just be branded as a brain-dead puppet. When I attacked someone, it was because they had genuinely offended and disrespected my presence and not because I felt some overwhelming need to 'prove' myself and make myself look powerful in front of strangers. I knew that I was a strong opponent to everyone in the Training Centre and I didn't need to flaunt this purely because of my reputation.

No, I just showed off my superiority because it was fun. Maybe I was being hypocritical, saying that the Careers were dumb because they spent their time intimidating people while I did the exact same thing, but since I could happily take on those that dared suggest this, it was all good. In any case, I was somewhat glad that the Career wannabes did exist in my district. They made good competition, and their initial arrogance only made it more fun to defeat them. Every time I deflated their little bubbles, every time I watched one of those oh-so-exceptional kiddies slink away, I felt a rush of power at being able to cause this change. Those Careers had once thought that they were better than me, after all.

Hardly anybody dared to challenge me these days, not unless they felt that training wasn't enough to wear them out. It was a shame that nobody wanted to fight me anymore; some would say that I enjoyed the thrill of victory a little too much, but watching the transformation from cocky to defeated proved to be too much for me to resist. Outperforming a child that supposedly possessed skills was a refreshing change from kicking and pushing pathetic little kids around. Unfortunately, not many of the trained bunch liked being around me. Some even called me unstable.

Well actually, everybody thought that I was a few cards short of a full pack. Having a particular fondness for violence and pain seemed to be frowned on in this district. However, my district conveniently ignored the fact that they were training their children to be the same way. Surely they should be happy to have such a strong, independent competitor in District Four.

Apparently not.

It was one of the many reasons that I didn't really like hanging around with people much. Sure, I enjoyed feeding off the negative emotions that I seemed to inflict on people whenever I was around, but it got tiresome when people tried to sweet-talk you into not hurting them. Needless to say, it never worked.

The squealing, wailing sound of a small child break me out of my reverie and I notice a young boy – who couldn't be much older than ten – playing around with the sand, trying and mostly failing to build a sandcastle. Last time I checked, sandcastles weren't supposed to look like molehills, but maybe that was just me being disassociated from the norms of society for too long.

He looks up as I walk over, and I smile wickedly at the way his face falls. Even though I didn't know who this kid was, it was apparent that he had heard of me. Still grinning, I crush the pathetic mound of sand under my feet, splattering damp sand all over my combat boots. I'll admit that I didn't exactly look very terrifying clothes-wise, what with me wearing a rather feminine purple dress, but that didn't seem to matter to him much. The fact that I was still making him look this nervous despite my outfit choice only calls for further mocking.

"Aw, so you're making a sandcastle, are you?" I ask in a sickly sweet voice, "You must be _so_ creative, making a molehill instead of an actual castle."

"Wh-What do y-you want?" The little kid tries to look tough by growling at me while glaring. Considering the fact he hadn't even reached puberty yet, he only comes across as someone who was trying too hard.

I giggle at his transparent façade of masculinity, "Who said that I ever wanted anything?" I simper, "Gosh, I only came over to help you."

My sarcasm only seems to make him even more of a wreck as he scrambles backwards in the remnants of his 'sandcastle', "I-I-I was d-doing just f-f-f-fine without y-you."

"Of course you were," I say, nodding my head as if to agree with him. However, it was evident that I thought otherwise, "But I'm sure that I can assist you anyway."

Before he can object, I've lifted him up by the scruff of his t-shirt. For a ten year old, he wasn't very heavy, so it was no problem hauling him over to the sea. He seems to pick up on my intentions as his struggling increases in intensity.

"No! Please don't drown me!" He screams frantically, his wind-milling arms almost slapping me in the face. His protests are ignored as I dunk him into the sea, holding him around the neck so that his nose and mouth were underwater. Despite the fact that I was clearly stronger than he ever would be, he continued to thrash about in the water, making unnecessary commotion and splashing me. His struggles only make me feel even better about myself, even more dominant and invincible. You'd feel the same if you had the power to snuff out someone's life with your bare hands, which I clearly possessed.

After what seemed like mere seconds, the boy's desperate attempts to overpower me and breathe in precious air start to weaken. Immediately, I discard the boy in the water, backing away while wiping my hands on my dress. I had no idea of if he was dead or unconscious, but I didn't care either way. Who was going to miss a runt like him if he was dead, anyway? The sea would probably wash him up somewhere that was far, far away from where I had played with him. Of course, people would probably suspect me of ending his pitiful life regardless of what happened to his corpse; District Four had built an entire legend of my actions around the district. Ever since I had been seven years old, people had adorned my path with exaggerated truths and outright lies.

I just found it funny that people went to such great efforts to make me so universally despised. My District really could be deplorable at times.

…

"Hello there District Four. It is an honour to announce who you have picked to enter this year's Hunger Games." Seal, the somewhat morbid and not-very-talkative escort, sounds bored as I quickly hurry over to where the other sixteen year old girls were. Some shy away from me as soon as they notice my existence, while others shot me hostile glances as they whispered to each other. I didn't care. In fact, I adored how they went out of their way to make me feel 'uncomfortable'.

My smug thoughts are interrupted by Seal tapping on the microphone for silence. Unlike most escorts, she looks strangely human considering the fact that she comes from the Capitol. The only obvious give-aways to the fact that she was far too wealthy to come from District Four was her reflective white eyes, which I presumed were supposed to represent the pearls that were so common around here. Closer observation would reveal her sharpened teeth, which Seal occasionally used to scare the younger, more gullible children.

It was probably a good thing that she didn't feel an obsessive need to prattle on about how enthused she was for the Hunger Games. Nobody really cared for what the Capitol citizens thought. After all, it was drilled into people that the Capitol citizens only provided future tributes with sponsors, and therefore should be tolerated and charmed into liking us. Well, they should be made to support us over the other two Career districts, anyway. It was common knowledge that District Four were considered the laughing stock of the Career pack, so clearly people would want to use their charming façades and beauty to win over the Capitol citizens' hearts. I wondered if our two contestants in this year's Games would be considered any good. It was entirely possible that District Four had singled out the black sheep in the district to die in the Games. However, there were a lot of people that didn't conform to the typical life of a District Four citizen.

Really, it could be anyone.

"And for our female tribute," Seal chirps in her deceptively cheery voice, "We have Brenna Fairbain."

_Brenna. _It was a stupid name, but unfortunately for me, it was the one that my frail mother had decided apt for me to be called.

"It's Kieran!" I shout as I forcefully shove one of the wannabe Careers out of the way. After she falls to the floor, a pathway is automatically cleared for me and I smirk as I walk up to the stage.

In retrospect, I shouldn't be surprised that I had been chosen; I happened to be the diamond in the rough that was District Four, and everybody knew that I stood a chance in these Games. The concept of mercy was not one that was practised in the Hunger Games much, which made it a perfect environment for me. I didn't even have to pretend to feel sympathy for the others that would be joining me. Instead, I got to unleash my power on them, showing that District Four was far more impressive than the others. Even Districts One and Two.

This district would be revered forever once I was finished playing this particular Game.

Reaching the stage, I grin at the audience, who only give me malicious looks back. Well, I'm fairly sure that they were supposed to be hateful glares, but my district weren't intimidating enough to pull it off. Despite the solid wall of dislike that was being directed at me, I raise my chin arrogantly at them, "My thanks to the good people of my district for giving me such an amazing opportunity to prove myself," My sarcasm is almost tangible. I had little desire to show my district what I was made of in the arena; they should already be aware of what I could do.

Seal just gives me an odd look – which I'll admit creeps me out a bit since her eyes are such an alien colour – as if she's surprised that a dainty-looking girl like me had been picked. She didn't need to worry though; everybody would find out that I was anything but 'fragile' soon enough, if they didn't know already. The escort doesn't say anything as she efficiently unfolds the slip that had been resting in the males' Reaping bowl.

"Ros Messina," Her accent adds emphasis on the 's' in this guy's first name, effectively butchering his name.

The reaction to him being picked was even more drastic than mine, with a giant circle appearing around one boy who had been idling in the section for the seventeen year old boys. His shocked expression is the first thing that I notice about him as he stands there, making no efforts to hide his disbelief. The second thing I noticed is the less-than-subtle ginger hair and the unusual outfit that he had deemed suitable for today. Clearly, the mild weather hadn't stopped him from flaunting his 'amazing' body, since he wasn't even wearing a shirt. Possibly he was pretending to be some sea god, as the only clothes he was wearing were the dark blue fish-scale trousers. He even held a trident.

Somebody clearly thought highly of himself.

His green eyes dart around, hoping for a volunteer, most likely. Clearly, it hadn't quite occurred to him yet that nobody _could_ take his place, even if they wanted to. And I'm sure that there were some idiots who thought they could outlast me. There had been a volunteer last year.

Imagine the embarrassment that we had felt when he had succumbed to the bloodbath. It hadn't exactly done wonders for our Career reputation, strangely enough.

"Do not touch me!" The voice of my district partner reaches my ears and I turn my attention back to him as he snarls at the Peacekeeper that had come to escort him to the stage. Ignoring the boy, the Peacekeeper grabs Ros' hand and starts dragging him to the stage. It didn't seem to go down well with Ros, who uses his free hand to slam the trident into the Peacekeeper's stomach. I grin at the scene that was taking place before me. Looks like my district partner had some fight inside him. That was just great for me; where was the fun in having some wimpy shrimp to push around?

Ros definitely didn't strike me as someone who would simply _let_ me walk all over him, but that was fine.

I always appreciated a good challenge.

* * *

**I apologise for the lack of updates. I have been rather busy revising for exams, as well as working on other writing projects. However, I should have way more time for writing now that the holidays are coming up, so expect more frequent updates. This chapter is also longer to (kind of) make up for it :)**

**In any case, what did you think of Ros (created by IHeartNialler) and Brenna/ Kieran (created by NinjaNakkiOfCabin11)? Your thoughts are always appreciated, so thanks for reading and possibly reviewing :P  
**


	7. Glitches in the System - District 3

Quell it with Fire

The First Quarter Quell

District Three Reapings

_**Kiba Bard, 16**_

**_District Three,_**

_The almost-dainty sound of breaking glass woke me up from my sleep. _

_I hadn't been dreaming beforehand, so the moment I heard that, I realised that I was awake. It wasn't the most astute of observations, but it came as a shock to me then – possibly because I was only four years old back then and had been forcefully woken up in the early hours of the morning. Well, I was presuming that it was only a few hours after midnight, since the sky was still an inky black-blue colour, with no rays of sunlight signalling the arrival of dawn._

_A gasp draws my attention to the figure that was swathed in the threadbare blankets that masqueraded as beds. Her light brown hair was tangled and messy as she sat upright, her eyes still bleary from lack of sleep. Slowly, they regained focus and she – my Mummy – looked at me with alarm._

"_Kiba?" I barely caught her voice, so haggard it sounded from fear._

"_Hmm?" My mouth hardly opens as I reply. Even back then, I hadn't been one for talking. Silence was far nicer than the strange things that people said._

_She blinks slowly, as if her brain is still sleepy from not having enough time to sleep, and it takes her a while before she opens her mouth, "Did you hear that as well?"_

_I can already take an educated guess as to what she means, but before I get the chance to answer, the door flies open, accompanied by a few stray shards of glass that rest a few feet away from me. The dim light seems to reflect off the glass menacingly, like the lens of a camera watching you. However, it's the white-clad soldiers that really capture my attention as they storm in, carelessly reducing what remained of the window next door to dust as they surrounded at Mummy. Currently, she was huddled in the corner of the room that we shared, her darting eyes attempting to find something in the eyes of the soldiers. Judging by her dismayed expression, she doesn't find it, although that could have something to do with the fact that the helmets they wear don't allow you to see their eyes. My attention isn't on her though; it's on the uniforms that the intruders wear that I really look at. It's the same outfit that Mummy used to wear before she quit her job._

_Were these the people that Mummy used to work for? I hoped not; they didn't seem like the nicest. I mean, they hadn't exactly chosen a suitable time to visit us. And hadn't they _ever _heard of knocking?_

_What did they even want, anyway? It couldn't be anything that good if they hadn't bothered letting Mummy know about it beforehand._

"_N-n-no, please," Mummy's voice fails her as a tear begins to make itself apparent, "I-I-I won't t-tell anybody, I s-swear."_

_It's impossible to tell what facial expression is on any of their faces, but something about the confident way that they stand tell me that they might be enjoying this, "You should have thought about that before you decided to mess with one of the Capitol citizens, shouldn't you?" I can't even tell which one of the soldiers replied to Mummy's pleas so arrogantly._

_Another one of the strange people prod her with their weapon, chuckling slightly as she flinches away, "Did you really think that any district scum would be worthy of a Capitol escort's affection? You're even more deluded than we thought."_

_I have no idea of what they're talking about, but my confusion and curiosity at the events that were happening were warring with the fear that I was failing to quell inside me. Somehow, the fact that the strangers _had _weapons was probably a good clue as to the soldiers' intentions. They wanted to kill us, or at least Mummy._

_Why? What had Mummy done that meant she deserved to be killed? As far as I knew, she was a perfectly normal and nice person that had always protected me from harm. She hadn't done anything to deserve being teased and bullied by these people. Why were they picking on her?_

_In any case, none of them seemed to have noticed me shying away from the group, moving towards the back door where our pet dog, Fli, had also been disturbed by the scene that was unfolding before my eyes. Maybe, just maybe, they would be too busy being mean to Mummy to notice me escape from harm. Selfish that may be, leaving Mummy in the hands of these people to prolong my life, but I didn't know what else to do. I didn't know how else I could help other than to escape from here with Fli. It wasn't as if I stood any chance against these people._

_Mummy was crying now, her sobs racking her body and making her words even less audible, "H-He can't d-d-do this t-to me," Tears that had been brimming in her eyes beforehand now made themselves known, "I-I-I thought that he l-l-loved me."_

_He? Who was Mummy talking about? She had never shown any interest in a man before. Actually, she had never shown interest in anyone but me before, and that was because I was her son. Someone that she had clearly been keeping secrets from._

_What was Mummy really hiding? It must be something important if her life was being put on the line for it. However, I never get the chance to find out as one of the soldiers raises their gun and pull the trigger. Mummy doesn't even get the chance to blink as the bullet enters her skull, ending her life in less than a second, and leaving me struggling to comprehend what had just happened before my eyes. That person hadn't even hesitated, hadn't even shown any signs of regret before they had ended Mummy's life. The thought of someone being capable of doing that to Mummy was enough to draw a gasp from me as I scramble backwards, which only drags my feet against the rough floor in a less-than-quiet manner. It's no surprise that the blank face plates of the soldiers all turn to look at me._

"_Aw, is the baby lost without their mummy?" One of them pretends to simper, edging towards me. I can just imagine the plastic fake smile that they could be wearing on their face as they do so. The other two strangers follow suit, with one of them staying with the first stranger while the other went around the side. Odd that they considered a defenceless child such as I to be so dangerous as to have three armed soldiers deal with me. I wasn't sure if they actually thought that I was any threat or if they were trying to terrify me, because they were succeeding at the second._

_Please, not me. I don't want to die!_

_I try to get to my feet, but strong arms from behind drag me up to where another soldier is pointing their gun at me._

"_Are we supposed to kill him as well?" The person holding me – who sounds like a man due to his deep voice – asks, his hands gripping my arms so tightly that I'm certain that bruising will form there if I live long enough._

"_Who cares?" The second person replies indifferently, "It's not like he was supposed to exist anyway, and who's really going to miss him?"_

_Just like that, they had decided my fate. In the space of a few seconds, they had deemed my life unworthy and had taken it upon themselves to end it._

_They hadn't counted on Fli intervening though, hadn't figured on him sinking his teeth into my captor's leg. Reflexively, the other soldier fired their gun, their hand clenching on the trigger in surprise and firing the gun at me. _

_If my captor hadn't dropped me in order to deal with Fli, it might have struck me in the heart. However, it still manages to tear though the flesh in my cheek and embed itself somewhere in my tongue._

_My scream pieces the night as I quickly burst out though the back door while the soldiers were distracted in trying to catch Fli, the taste of metal and blood tainting my senses as I run away,_

_Little did I know that I had lost so much more than my mother that night._

"Kiba!"

That statement, which had been said rather forcefully, had been enough to wake me up from the nightmare, and without thinking, we bolted halfway across the ramshackle hut that we called a den. And when I say 'we', I meant me and my puppy, Myte. It was our natural instincts to run from danger, and anything that made that much noise clearly couldn't be good for us.

Like the bright red colour of a ladybird that I only saw in books, noise served as a warning, telling me that the source of the sound was a danger to me. Any abrupt noises brought on that unpleasant feeling in me – that ringing in your eardrums, the alarm that shocked you like electricity – and I couldn't help but put distance between myself and the source of the racket. I had always been so twitchy about any sudden actions. If you couldn't predict what something could do easily, it shouldn't be trusted.

Okay, maybe I did take this motto to extremes by running away from _every _loud noise and sudden actions that I bore witness to, but better safe than sorry, right? If I hadn't reacted all those years ago, then I would have been long dead by now, and even I knew that was bad bad bad. Anything that involved the possibility of my death was bad, but that wasn't anything unusual in District Three. At least, I didn't _think _it was, anyway.

What could speak in order to make that sound, anyway? It must be one of those strange creatures known as humans that had discovered our hideout. Only they were capable of speech; a thing that was considered foreign to me.

Why was that? The fact that most of my tongue had been cut out would be a good clue, even though the only clue as to this would be the small, circular scar that seemed to be branded on my left cheek. I guess it would have attracted more attention to me on the streets, but my tangled brown hair usually hid most of my facial features, and it wasn't as if anybody paid any special attention to me anyway.

"Kiba?" The voice is less muffled by the corrugated iron walls of my den, making it more recognisable. I lift up my head from where it had been rested against my knees to see the familiar face of Bianic, the only person who I actually spoke to on a regular basis. Well, maybe 'spoke' was the wrong word to use, considering the fact that I had never been able to speak properly. Unless you counted the unintelligible sounds that I had made when I was a toddler, when my life would have been considered 'normal' by the rest of mankind.

According to people, living a 'normal' life meant having to live in a world full of strange colours and loud noises. It wasn't something that I wanted to be immersed in, and I was rather surprised that people could live like that. Being around so many people must generate a lot of chatter, which meant noise, which meant a lot of discomfort and stress for me.

"Guess what?" Bianic continues, "The Reaping's today! It's your chance to watch which children were willingly sacrificed by this district to be slaughtered by Careers!"

Her smile grows at the thought of watching death happening before her eyes in the Games, which is her usual reaction to anything that involved murder. I'm fairly sure that her desire to kill someone isn't something that many other people share, but that's what makes me curious about her. One would be curious as to how Bianic ticked as well when one encountered her. Well, curious as well as freaked out, but she seemed nice enough to me. For starters, Bianic was the person that helped save me from the Peacekeepers that night, when they had tried to wipe out my family. I ended up having my tongue cut out but at least I wasn't dead. That was definitely a good thing.

I grimace at the thought of the Reaping, and the possibility of being in the Hunger Games. Those two things promised nothing but death for me. Twenty three deaths each year, if you wanted to be precise, and I did _not _want to be one of them.

Bianic manages to figure out my dislike for the Games from my facial expression, but she only gives me a creepy smile, "I'm surprised that more people haven't learned to enjoy taking someone's life yet. You'd think that everyone would be used to the concept of killing when it's glorified on television every year."

My lips curve into a frown as I shake my head violently, bespeaking my disagreement with the idea of murdering someone else for selfish gains. Wherever you killed because you had to, wanted to or because you wanted fame and money, it still didn't make it okay if you had a reason.

And besides, I knew that Bianic hadn't actually killed anybody…yet, so it made sense that she was so enthralled with this idea. Some did say that the anticipation was better than the ending result, after all.

Her dark eyes look at me seriously though thick eyelashes, "You might have to find out," she points out in a rare moment of seriousness, "It could be you that gets chosen today. It's not as if you fit in."

I back away slightly at the truth in her words. She's right; I was one of the outcasts in District Three, one of the spare parts in a machine that could be disposed of, someone that was considered expendable. Here in this district that had failed to weather me into its system, you needed to know your technology to be able to fit in, and living on the outskirts of this district for several years with nothing but two dogs and a homicidal woman for company had left me lacking in this respect. When you didn't want to see an innocent, defenceless child in the Games, I was probably the most blatant choice to send in. Not only was I considered a completely and utter failure at the one thing that District Three valued in its citizens, but I didn't even have anyone else to miss me, unless I counted Bianic.

Bianic, the one person that actually knew things about me, as opposed to simply knowing my name. She had willingly brought me from the brink of death with her medical skills, but yet still nurtured her obsession with death. Basically, she interested me, just as I seemed to pique curiosity in her, and I did find myself wondering why she acts the way she does. This curiosity, this desire to find out about people, applied to almost every person that I encountered. Every person was different, and I had always been fascinated with how different people reacted to the same scenario.

I liked people. I enjoyed the company of other creatures of the same species as me, but I wasn't sure if they liked me back. I wasn't sure why, since it wasn't as if I went around and deliberately annoyed everybody. On the contrary, I found it fun to please people, and whenever I encountered someone, I always made sure to help them out to the best of my ability. Sure, I acted a little differently than most people did, but that didn't mean that I deserved being ignored or mocked, hence why I preferred living on my own, although I didn't really have a choice in the matter. It wasn't as if I had anyone to go back to the crowded streets of District Three to. Nobody that I loved or cared for inhabited the mainland area of this district, and I was fine with things being that way. Well, up until I realised that my chances of being picked were higher than most. All because of the fact that I didn't stand out in District Three.

It wasn't _fair_.

* * *

**_Peyton Wyre, 13_**

**_District Three,_**

Science really was a breathtaking thing.

I mean, who knew where we would be without the wonders that technology bequeathed us with? If nobody had discovered and developed this art, there would not be any electricity that powered the country of Panem; no television, no databases, not even lighting or any convenient form of heating would be available. Humans would have no way of quickly communicating with others over long distances quickly, meaning that our flourishing society would be nothing but a mishmash of warring groups fighting tooth and nail for survival. We would be degraded to living like the other animals that inhabited this world, having to directly salvage from nature. Not to mention that our quality of life would be drastically reduced in so many other aspects.

You had to admit that living like this was far nicer than being raised in some cave.

That wasn't the only reason that we should be grateful for what miracles science produced. Practically _everything _existed as it did thanks to it, right down to the clothes that we wore and the food that we ate. No matter what it was, you could be sure that science could explain it, and being able to control it would definitely grant you an advantage. That was one of the main differences between us humans and animals; we had enough intelligence to manipulate our surroundings to aid us. Sure, people had misused this advantage before the Dark Days, tarnishing the environment along with the majority of the world, but now we had found methods of making Panem self-sustaining. What were we to thank for this? Science, of course. Nobody could say that it wasn't beneficial to us with a straight face.

It was kind of a shame that the Capitol were now abusing this privilege that we had access to, but at least it still existed, which was a plus.

I really wanted to witness some of the Capitol's technological advancements one day, no matter what their mentality was. Yeah, I didn't really approve of the Hunger Games, considering the fact that I could be forced to participate, but I understood the Capitol's need for vengeance. We districts had rebelled and some of the Capitol citizens might still feel threatened by us; of course they would have put in place punishments so that they felt more protected. It seemed to be part of human nature, so I didn't loathe the Capitol for doing this to us. Actually, I kinda admired the intelligence that was behind the Games. Not only did it flaunt off the fact that the Capitol – the deceptively shallow Capitol – had the power, it had also efficiently divided the districts. None of the districts would be willing to ally with the others when their own children were doing their best to kill each other, with nothing but their own lives serving as an incentive.

Of course, maybe I was in a position to say that since I lived with very few of the restrictions that had been imposed on the districts. That wasn't to say that my family were considered credible enough to travel between districts, anything but. Neither did it guarantee us any protection from being Reaped. Well, it didn't secure my fate as a tribute in the Games anyway; I didn't have any siblings, and clearly my parents were too old to be chosen.

Today would be my second Reaping.

Unlike last year, I didn't feel that horrible, fluttery feeling in your stomach when I thought about this year's Reaping. Last year, there had been a probability of me being Reaped. My name might have only been in the bowl once, but the possibility was still there.

This year, there was no way that anything such as 'chance' or 'luck' could interfere with whoever was picked this year. Those two things didn't even exist anyway and in my mind, the only reason that those terms had came to be was because of the laziness of others. Anything and everything could be explained using mathematics and science, and anyone who said otherwise clearly lacked the foresight or knowledge to figure out whatever problem they deemed unsolvable by those means. I may have only been around for thirteen years, but I already felt competent with understanding the world around me using my education.

And at this moment in time, my father seemed to be bent on making sure that I learned as much as possible before the Reaping. Currently, my parents and I were inhabiting the house of one of my few friends, Surge. Lately, he had been complaining of mice raiding his house and chewing on the wires that he kept around the house. Naturally, I had offered to help and my father – wanting to see me use my education for a good cause – had decided to come along.

Initially, I had been unsure as to why my mother had also decided to witness this. It wasn't as if she was particularly invested in science or anything, so watching me use electricity to eliminate the rats wouldn't perk up any fascination inside her. Only when did I notice the constant looks that she kept giving to my father, her brown eyes brimming with an adoring look that bordered on worship, that I understood. She wasn't here for me; it was her husband that she was willing to put up with me for. Like many others in my district, she considered me to be quite strange, but at least she didn't actively mock me about my fondness for learning. Well, it wasn't as if I was singled out because of this fact, but I tended to end up on my own a lot.

The gleam of a copper wire catches my attention as Surge takes a couple of strands out of his pocket.

"What do you think you can rig with these?" He asks me, his eyes looking at me as if he expects me to start uttering crazy ideas here and then. Well, Surge wouldn't be wrong there; my mind is already devising up plans of luring the mice out of their nesting places and into the death trap that I'm currently thinking up of.

Now, how can I draw the mice to one place? I can feel my father's eyes on me and I know that he'll be disappointed if I let him down. The similarity to being back at school is uncanny.

Good thing that I had always done well under these situations.

"Well," I start off, covering up my hesitation with a smile, "Maybe you could lure the mice out with some cheese or a bowl of milk," I suggest shyly, "And maybe have the dish be placed on a sheet of aluminium foil or anything that conducts electricity? Then you could attach wires to it, so that when the mice try to eat the cheese, they end up being electrocuted instead."

This is met with an approving grin from my father. My mother soon gives me a less-than-enthusiastic smile when she realises that my father had praised me for my idea. There was no fondness for me in her eyes.

"That could work," Surge considers my idea, "Of course, the charge would need to be set at a level that wouldn't be lethal to people, and the trap would need to be placed so that people don't tri – " I don't find out the other precaution that you would have to apply to this trap as my mother quickly interrupts.

"Yes, this is very nice children, but we mustn't be late for the Reaping now." She says this with false cheeriness as she reluctantly wraps an arm around me and steers me away from my friend. I barely get time to say farewell to Surge before she directs me and my father out of the door, not making any effort to disguise her boredom with the discussion.

I frown slightly at her rudeness. Okay, it wasn't as if I had been expecting her to conform to what I believed in and take interest in the discussion, but she could have at least attempted to be less selfish and tolerate it. If everybody was self-involved and only looked out for themselves, then we would have never have accomplished the things that we had done. Even the art of science wouldn't have been discovered without people working together.

See? Science again. No matter what, you always came back to science in the end. You couldn't say that it wasn't important, or that it didn't have _some _impact on the way we lived, at least.

My thoughts are derailed by my father's arms wrapping around me, "Peyton," he says carefully, his voice guarded, "You know that I'm proud of you, don't you?"

"Of course Dad," I cautiously hug him back, unnerved by how on edge he seemed to be, "I lo – "

I was about to say the words _I love you too, _but it's only then that I realise that he never said that he loved me first. He's only proud of me, the same way that you would be proud of your child if they obtained high marks in school, or if they went on to become someone great in life. There was little room for love in that equation.

_Well it's not like that matters, _I think to myself. _You can't really complain just because your parents put a lot of stock into their reputations. _And it was true; my life could be a heck of a lot worse than it was. I was living comfortably, with no problems and my parents – while not being the most caring – never put me down or made me feel worthless. On the contrary, it was them that had strived to make me someone of value in this society, someone that possessed skills that could benefit others. How could you possibly object to that? Complaining about the advantages that they had granted me with was just plain selfish, which was something that I didn't consider myself to be. Sure, I had the natural human instinct of self-preservation buried within me, making me want to look after and protect myself from harm, but so did everybody else. Besides, it wasn't as if having a vested interest in your well-being was a bad thing, was it? At least I wasn't so vain or arrogant as to believe that I was the only thing worth something in this world, although that didn't mean that I was the most selfless either. Like the majority of people, I was somewhere in the middle when it came to how much I cared about myself. I had a typical view. I was average in that respect.

I wasn't really sure if I wanted to be considered average. All my life, people had considered me to be someone with 'above average' intelligence, and as a result, I had been treated differently because of that. Add to the fact that my family were rich – well, compared to most people in District Three – and there was no way that I would be able to fit in properly. According to many others, I had a better understanding of the world than most people did, and had an ability to learn at a faster rate than the usual person. Personally, I didn't _feel _different from everybody else, but it seemed that I gave off an aura that suggested I was 'odd'. The fact that I was being educated along with people who are almost five years older than me doesn't help.

"What were you going to say, sweetie?" My father asks, looking down at me, his eyes brimming with satisfaction at what I could do. It was a look that he gave me often, a look that made no attempts to conceal his pride in me. Some would be cowed by the pressure that came with this, but I had lived with his expectations for my entire life. Why would I find it strange?

I quickly plaster a smile to my face, "Nothing, don't worry about it."

I hadn't pretended to be completely fine because I wanted to mask my true emotions or anything; I wasn't of the manipulating type, but I liked to think that being friendly towards everyone made the world a better place. Being hostile or dishonest was hardly going to contribute a lot to others, and it didn't really help you in the long run, anyway.

We had reached the town square at this stage, where a steady line of nervous-looking children was starting to form. My father only has time to bend down and lightly kiss me on the cheek before my mother drags him away, leaving me on my own. Slightly put out by my parents' seemingly nonchalant attitude, I quickly hurry over to sign in and join the other thirteen year old girls. A few odd looks are passed my way, but I do my best to ignore them and stare straight ahead, trying to not think about the fact that I could be chosen for the Games today. Nobody knew who had been chosen in District Three, and there weren't any obvious choices. Hardly anybody around here was strong enough to win the Games, and if you were looking for bloodthirsty psychopaths or notorious teenagers, then you had come to the wrong district. It was impossible to guess from simply glancing around at the sea of nervous faces who had been betrayed by their own district. And even though the Capitol _were _twisted for forcing the districts to turn on their own, the districts were hardly good either for simply letting it happen, me included. I might not have achieved anything by speaking out, but I could have at least tried.

Shaking my head, I dispel these thoughts immediately. Objecting to the twist would have only resulted in my death, which would do nothing. I really shouldn't be thinking about my chances of being picked anyway, since they were minuscule at the best.

What would District Three want with a girl like me, anyway? Sure, I knew an awful lot about technology, but so did everybody else. It wasn't as if our extensive knowledge helped us much in the arenas, which were usually forest-based. Well, the last few years had been a change from those arenas, with the Games last year taking place upon a giant ship, which the Capitol had called the 'Titanic', but there had still been a lack of electronics to manipulate in that particular arena. Unsurprisingly, our usual expertise and talent meant next-to-nothing, aside from trap-making. That was hardly a skill that could overwhelm the other tributes though, so it wouldn't make sense for them to pick me. The logic behind picking a thirteen year old such as me would be flawed, regardless of what talents I possessed. There had been twenty four years, twenty four Hunger Games, before today and not once had anybody under the age of fifteen won. Not once.

"Greetings, and welcome to the Quarter Quell," The escort's Capitol accent, so different from the usual low murmurs of us District Three citizens, draws my attention away from my chances of being Reaped, which I was grateful for. After all, if I didn't dwell on this fact, then I wouldn't be overwhelmed with the fear that was naturally associated with the concept of death.

"And for our female tribute," The only sound you could hear aside from the sharply-accented voice of the escort was the slight tapping of the escort's nails against the glass bowl. It was a sound that you wouldn't have been able to hear if the town square had not been so quiet, "We have Peyton Wyre."

I barely make any indication of the fact that I had just been chosen, aside from sharply inhaling air in shock, but that sound had been audible enough for people to turn their heads in my direction and fixate their eyes on me. Eyes that only flash briefly with pity before turning flat and emotionless again, deliberately turning a blind eye to the fate that they had willingly condemned me to. And as if they had rehearsed it, the other children backed away and made a clear path leading to the stage, a path that was becoming blurry with the tears that were threatening to appear.

_I had been chosen? _

That was the one question that occupied my mind as I slowly placed one foot in front of the other, unsure of if my legs would fail me any moment and leave me collapsed on the concrete ground. It still hadn't quite kicked in yet that it was me that had been chosen, out of every girl in the district, but I wasn't numb enough to not feel the betrayal that I now felt towards my district. Was I really the girl that deserved this out of my entire district? It wasn't as if I was even that well known around my district, and I definitely wasn't what you would call notorious. Actually, I was surprised that enough people knew who I was for me to have accumulated the most votes.

"Kiba Bard," While I was trying to calm myself down, the escort had Reaped the male tribute. The name doesn't ring a bell with me, but I find out who my district partner is when he tries to make a break for freedom, sprinting out of the sixteen year old section for boys as if his life depends on it.

Well, it kind of did, although he has no chance of escaping.

His shapeless clothes make him stick out enough on his own, providing a weirdly refreshing contrast to the neatly tailored clothes that everybody else – me included – seemed to be wearing. Although Kiba's top seems normal enough, I am confused as to why he's wearing a skirt, which does not flatter him in any way possible. However, it's not long before several Peacekeepers manage to catch up with him. I think it had something to do with the fact that Kiba was panting heavily after his running and barely managed to reach the section for the oldest kids before being caught. Clearly, he wasn't a very good runner.

Kiba refuses to give up though, resorting to kicking and clawing at the Peacekeepers that try to restrain him. It's impossible to not notice him now as he writhes and proceeds to scream in fury. His facial features were contorted into a mask of rage, and I shy away from him unconsciously when he is finally 'escorted' to the stage. Then my upbringing kicks in, and I realise that acting wary of him wasn't the politest thing to do. Instead of looking down at the ground like I want to, I try and smile and outstretch my hand out to him. My friendly gesture is ruined by the tears that are still trickling down my face, but I maintain my smile as he cautiously shakes my hand, giving me a strange look as he does so. He probably thought that I was mocking him or something, not that I could blame him or anything.

It wasn't like the Games were a place where kindness was a virtue.

…

"Peyton," My father marches in, his confidence naturally giving him a commanding air as my mother trails in after him, "I couldn't be more proud to have you as a daughter."

"What?" That question didn't exactly make me look the most clever, but I was still trying to take in the fact that I had been chosen for the Hunger Games by my own district. It was incredibly surreal to imagine that the people that you lived and worked and laughed alongside with had betrayed you, seemingly without a second thought.

My father doesn't seem to be taken aback by my less-than-eloquent response, which strikes me as unusual, "Why wouldn't I be? My daughter is about to show her true potential in this year's arena. And it's the Quarter Quell, no less."

The implications of what he's saying begin to sink in, "You mean that you're okay with me being in the Hunger Games?" I ask carefully, looking at him desperately in hopes that he doesn't say that, that he doesn't want this death sentence imposed on me.

"Well, it is regrettable that every other district has chosen their strongest tributes to represent them, but I'm sure that you'll outsmart them," he pinches my cheek as he grins at me, "And don't make me regret giving you this opportunity."

My mouth widens into a rounded 'O' in shock, "You voted for me?"

This revelation was even worse than the idea of having the people around me singling out me to die in the Games. They weren't bound to you by blood, they had their own families to look out for, but I had never dreamed of my father – and by default, my mother – siding with them. Family were supposed to be the ones that you could depend on, since they were the ones that raised you. How could my parents consider doing this?

"Of course," My mother interrupts. Her voice is disturbingly matter-of-fact, "Admittedly, you were doing well with your studies, but your father thought that being in the Games would allow you to put your intelligence to good use."

"And you guys are okay with this?" My voice cracks slightly, and my doe brown eyes were concentrated on the carpet, "I could be d-dead in a couple of weeks."

"Don't be ridiculous!" My father looks shocked, "We can only imagine your shock at what we've done – I know that I'd feel the same way if my parents had done this – but we have complete faith in the fact that you can win this."

It is that this point that I realise that my father was not as sane as I once thought he was, but I don't get the chance to question their motives any further as he kisses me on the cheek again before leaving. My mother doesn't even look back at me once as the door slams shut, leaving me on my own in the world. Leaving me to die in the Hunger Games.

* * *

**Hi again, I decided to reserve my update until today, so Happy New Year and 2013 :D Hope you like this little gift of mine xD  
Anyway, that was District Three (for those less observant :P), tributes courtesy of Jayfish (who made Kiba) and District11-Olive (who made Peyton). I have no idea if I portrayed their tributes correctly, so your opinions on their personalities and such would be really appreciated :)**** Even if you don't have a tribute, I'll still happily accept your thoughts, no matter how random/ mean :P  
**


	8. Follow the Leader - District 2

Quell it with Fire

The First Quarter Quell

District Two Reapings

**_Lyona Stonelef, 16_**

**_District Two,_**

_I have won the Hunger Games._

_All of the adrenaline and exhilaration that had been sustaining me only spikes up at the thought of this. I, Lyona Stonelef, was the victor of the First Quarter Quell. None of the other tributes had been a match for me; not even the Careers had been much of a challenge. Well, not enough of a challenge anyway. Each one of my competition had fallen in the end, defeated by my superior strength and glory. But it wasn't just my skills that had won me the Games. Plenty of Career tributes had enough weaponry skills to win the Hunger Games, but far too many of them had fallen prey to the District tributes, the weaklings from the outlying districts that didn't deserve the honour of defeating a Career. Well that would have never have happened to me; I was determined that my fate would not be so pathetic and embarrassing. And that was the true key to victory: determination. Well they did say that anything was possible if you set your mind to it._

_There's a grin on my face as I imagine the cheers that the Capitol citizens would be emitting now at my victory. I wasn't bothered at what those creepy people actually thought of me, oh no. The fact that somebody important was applauding me, praising me for my efforts was enough to send a burst of excitement though me. I didn't care that they were the idiotic Captiol citizens that were so pathetic. All that mattered was the riches and wealth that they had somehow managed to obtain, which would only propel me into victory._

_Smirking, I nudge the dead body of my latest victim, who was supposedly a Career. Even worse, he had claimed to have been an eighteen-year old, 'highly-trained' killer from District One when we had fought. Of course, my district were far superior in terms of our determination and ruthlessness than the luxury district, so it was of very little surprise that I had bested him. How could you possibly take the district of 'luxury goods' seriously in the first place, anyway? It was a well-known stereotype that the children there were heavily invested in appearances, and this boy had failed to move his district away from this typical image of his district. The fact that he had taken too much comfort and pride in his own image had been a factor in this._

_He should be ashamed that he had lost to someone two years younger than him in a scant minute. Well, it had felt like a minute anyway, or maybe it was because the thrill of battle never ever seemed to last for long. It really was a shame; the kick that you got from beating someone with weapons was priceless. And I almost always won in a fight. I had trained for most of my life for this moment, after all, so it was only logical that I was the person that had succeeded in this contest. _

_Training was the thing that gave us – or rather, me – the edge over everybody else. What use was sewing or farming compared to weaponry training and tactics in the Games? Everybody in District Two knew that preparing for the Hunger Games was the way forward into becoming the most respected and powerful of the districts. What was the point of sitting there and moaning about the Games when you could be improving your abilities and increase the possibility of them surviving the thing that the lower districts seemed to detest so much? _

_Besides, the Games were meant to be a punishment to the districts, but by training, District Two – along with Districts One and Four – had managed to turn this 'punishment' into an advantage. It was needless to say that the title of Victor was a position that was highly valued in the districts that had been dubbed 'Careers'. I didn't mind the title, despite the fact that it was no doubt meant to be insulting; it was true that the majority of children here took the issue of the Hunger Games seriously, and it wasn't as if their petty words meant anything when our tributes efficiently killed them._

_Once upon a time, when the Hunger Games had taken even my district off-guard, the outer districts all had better chances at winning. Being more used to hardship, they had adapted quickly to the harsh conditions of the arena, and most of them had outlasted their competition in order to win._

_Well, now that District Two were prepared, that wasn't going to be happening anymore. I was going to win these Games. Hell, I _had _won, just like the six other times that one of District Two's children had succeeded in coming home, and now I could look forwards to the decadence that Panem would shower me with._

_Nothing could stop me anymore._

"Lyona, time to get ready!"

That voice is the one that ruins my fantasy of winning the Games, although that dream would soon morph into reality.

Opening my eyes, I'm treated to the sight of my oh-so-_handsome _brother, Willois, smirking at me. Note the sarcasm there, although I didn't dare say it to his face, just in case he thought I was actually being serious there.

I roll my eyes, "Oh, what a lovely sight greets me when I wake up," My eyes flicker over to his well-toned chest, which he had obviously not bothered to hide. He notices this and poses in a provocative manner, either oblivious to or ignoring my sarcasm.

"Was that a compliment from the Great Lyona? Oh my, I think I might faint." He pretends to swoon, his sarcasm outperforming mine. Or so he thought, anyway.

Yes, he was certainly vain and arrogant enough to think that he could possibly be better than his younger – and more advanced – sister. Clearly, he didn't know that I was always going to be superior to him in every way. My youth gave me an automatic advantage over this fool, and I was far more prepared to face the trying conditions of the Games than he was, having trained for them longer.

Unfortunately for Willois, he didn't seem to understand this, although I'd give him one thing: he was smart enough to not volunteer last year when he had the chance. Honestly, he would have shamed our district, as opposed to bringing pride to it.

"I hope you didn't only just figure that out," I reply snidely, "With your amazing deduction skills, I'm shocked that you didn't volunteer to win the Games when you had the chance."

This unsubtle reference at his failure to take part in the Twenty Fourth Games earns me a glare, but he doesn't make any attempts to defend his cowardly ways. I meant it; nobody had volunteered last year, so it wasn't as if Willois could say that he had been bested by another eager trainee.

At least last year's tributes had been sufficient enough to enforce our district's reputation as _the _district to be feared and respected, despite the fact that both tributes – Ava and Talon – had been a few years younger than the usual District Two tributes. Both of them had exceeded the expectations that we had of them last year, and I was hoping to achieve the same reaction that Ava and Talon had managed to get from District Two this year.

It may not be a guarantee that I would be the one that was chosen – and I wasn't arrogant enough to think that I had the most votes – since there were so many potential contenders that were older than me, but I was one of the strongest trainees in this district. 'Career' training, as the majority of Panem seemed to have dubbed it, was still a relatively new thing and not everybody invested in it. Naturally, my dedication to training only meant that I surpassed the majority of this district with my skill. There was still a high possibility of me being picked. And if I wasn't? Well, I still had another two years to spare.

There was no way that I could lose the Games, no matter what year. The other tributes wouldn't know what had hit them when the Capitol allowed me into the Games.

Seeing that my brother had still not left my room, I made a shooing gesture with my hand, raising my chin arrogantly at him, "That's your cue to leave, by the way," My voice had a bratty, spoilt quality to it, but I didn't care. Who cared if I came across as rude? Just as long as people paid attention and listened to what I wanted, then I couldn't care less about stopping people thinking negative thoughts about me.

Well, it was fine as long as they didn't have the audacity to say those thoughts to me, of course. That probably wasn't the best idea for them. I grin at the thought of inflicting violence, my mind recalling all the times that I had proved my worth in the training academies, especially the time when one of the incompetent trainers had dared to cut my wrist 'accidentally' while sparring with me. Nobody had ever dared to try and attack me like that before, and naturally, I hadn't reacted in the best way.

That trainer had _just _walked away with his life.

His injury had still remained though. The shallow cut that he had inflicted on my left wrist still existed, still branded my skin and reminded me of the one time that I hadn't triumphed over someone. And I absolutely hated it. It meant that I couldn't say that I always won anymore, and I couldn't lie about it because everybody could see it.

That cut taunted me, saying that I wasn't perfect, that I could still be defeated by other people. And I couldn't have that, I just wouldn't accept it. I, Lyona, _had _to be perfect. Nothing else would suffice for me, and when I won the Games – wherever that happened today or next year – the Capitol could use their technology to erase it. Only then would I truly be the epitome of a flawless, definite human being that everybody would admire. The thought of being perfect makes me bare my teeth in what was supposed to be a smile.

My brother picks up on my smile, which usually looked more like a sneer, and rolls his eyes, "You're doing it again."

"Doing what?" I pretend to inquire innocently, although the tone of my voice drips with contempt at his vagueness. Besides, Willois knows full well that 'innocent' isn't the word that best describes me.

"Your lil' psychotic grin," he replies, "You thinking about the Games again?"

I jump at this opportunity to prove my superiority over my brother, "As a matter of fact, I wasn't, _actually_," I put childish emphasis on the last word in my sentence, and stick my tongue out at him to drive in my point. Even if I had been thinking purely about the Hunger Games – which I kind of had – it wasn't as if Willois could read my mind, so I had no way of losing. I would do anything to not lose.

"Wow, such maturity Lee."

Lee was his oh-so-affectionate nickname for me, which irritated me to no end. The use of a nickname implied that I wasn't worthy of being called by my full name, which was unacceptable. Nobody was permitted to demean my identity by the use of something so ridiculous as a nickname. Not only was it lazy to shorten someone's name, it also indicated that said person who used the nickname had some sort of power over you. Another thing which I didn't allow.

Scowling, I get up out of bed and head towards him. I don't bother rushing though, and the little coward decides to sprint out of my door downstairs before I can catch him. Taking up to this unspoken challenge, I chase after him, wanting to teach him a lesson about why you didn't even try and disrespect me.

…

"Lyona, what do you think you're doing?"

I'm halfway down the stairs, my eyes focused on the blonde curls of Willois, when my father intercepts me. Well, not him personally, but his voice is enough to stop me pursuing my brother.

Let me just tell you now that my father is the only person that I actually listen and pay attention to, sometimes. If you expect me to bow down and simply accept everybody else and their ways without any problems, then I'd be more than happy to prove you wrong.

I aim a smile at my father, "Nothing much, just playing with my dearest brother before the Reaping, father."

My reply, which was not the most sincere, makes my father frown slightly at me, "Well I highly recommend that you stop then. Playing around is an unproductive waste of energy that could have been better spent on training."

"I'll try extra hard after the Reapings," I offer with a slightly desperate whine evident in my voice; something that irks me, "I still have another two years to train anyway."

His stern expression doesn't change, "Lyona, you're already one of the best fighters that this district has produced among its children, but that isn't an excuse to be indulge in petty activities such as _playing _with others," his scorn at such a pastime is thinly concealed, "You'll have more time for that when you actually prove yourself to be someone of value in this district."

"Okay, okay, I get it," I quickly change my tune when I notice Willois standing a few feet behind my father, smirking at me while sticking his tongue out at me immaturely. The fact that he continues to defy me means that my attention is diverted from my father. However, I do nothing but glower at Willois, hoping that the hatred that I feel for him is conveyed in that one stare. Judging by how unaffected he looks, it appears that wasn't going to be the case.

My father notices my harsh glare and turns around to face Willois, sighing irritably, "You two really need to grow up," he grumbles, "Willois, you need to stop winding up your sister and actually do something useful now that you can't win the Games anymore," I smirk at how Willois' face falls at this, but my smug expression is quickly wiped off when my father turns to face me, "And you need to realise that the Hunger Games shouldn't be taken lightly. Look at you; the Reaping's going to start soon and you're not even dressed."

Looking down at myself, I realised that I wasn't appropriately dressed. Funny how I hadn't even noticed the way that the sun streamed though the downstairs windows and warmed my skin. Skin that my pyjamas showed a generous amount of. Well, it wasn't as if I was one of the many models that District One produced, but I could certainly not be called 'average-looking' or 'ugly'. That was the antithesis of perfection.

However, I couldn't actually care less about how I looked or if I appealed to boys. As long as I was presentable and somewhat pleasing to the human eye, then I was fine. Fashion, however, meant nothing to me – it were superficial and helped you with nothing in the long run – but a good reputation would help. Who cares about the clothes that someone wore? I was far more concerned with the matter of how worthy an opponent someone could be, and last time I checked, 'trendy' people did not have the upper hand in a fight purely based on looks.

No, only the people who actually knew the secret to success had a chance of being taken seriously, and I was definitely going to be one of those people. Success meant that you had proved yourself, which meant that you were perfect.

And as I had already said, I strived for nothing less than being first-class.

* * *

_**Riley-Iron Holt, 18**_

_**District Two,**_**  
**

"Aw look, if it isn't the wannabe Career."

Those words are the only warning I get before the dummy which I had been attacking with my katana is beheaded. Looking up, I'm treated to the sight of a smirking, well-built trainee grinning at me, taking satisfaction in the misery that he always inspires inside me.

It's been like this almost every single day ever since I stepped into the training centre. Since my father was one of the most famous victors in District Two – which was saying something, considering that this district had gained six victors in the past twenty four Games – I had been enrolled in training from the moment that I could walk. Initially, I had been heralded as a role model for the other trainees to look up to. It seemed to make sense – in theory. However, having to live up to his reputation was easier said than done, and it wasn't long before the respect that I had gained from the others had dissipated.

"Don't you have better things to do?" I ask reasonably, swinging the katana around lazily in my hand as I turn to face the newcomer, although I was already aware of who it was. The harsh, masculine voice of Barute was recognisable from a mile away, since every rudimentary sentence that he managed to get out sounded like a growl.

He snorts, "Getting rid of weaklings like you is a fine way of spending my time," he grins, showing his teeth, "It's only practise for when I kill off the lower-district tributes this year."

"Since we're both in the best training academy there is here, I can hardly be classed as weak," I point out calmly, trying not to let him bother me. The mere fact that he compared me to the typically untrained and unprepared tributes was an insult in itself.

There was no way that I could be compared to them in any respect. My preparation for the Games made me a far more likely victor than any of them, but my best efforts at training didn't seem to be good enough for some people.

No, it seemed that I was viewed as the weak link in the group of trainees at this academy; a position that wasn't exactly healthy to be in. What I didn't get was why the other Careers picked on those they deemed as below them in the first place. Surely this petty bullying only distracted them from gaining the training required to win the Hunger Games, and distractions could prove fatal in the arena. If Barute didn't think that though, then that was his loss. Concentration was something that should be valued in the Games, and I was desperate to prove this.

Despite the reservations of the others here, I did have a reputation to live up to in the Games, and I was more than capable of surpassing those expectations. I _had_ to be. There was no way that all the years I had put into training, into surpassing the people that mocked me, could be wasted this year. With this in mind, I turn to another dummy nearby and proceed to mutilate the fabric with my weapon, cleanly beheading the 'arm' of the dummy with one swing.

_Was _that_ good enough for you? Could _you_ do any better?_ I think to myself bitterly, scowling slightly. He doesn't take the hint though and continues to talk.

"I don't even know why you're bothering with training today, to be honest. It's not like a few measly minutes is going to compensate for votes when _I_ get chosen this year." Barute continued, his scorn for me obvious.

That bothered me. The disrespectful, rude way that he addressed me obviously didn't go down well with myself. Words – rude, insensitive words – had a funny way of affecting me, striking deep into my core like a knife, and making me feel conscious of myself. I wasn't sure what, but the subtle way that lips curled up in distaste or the emphasis that people applied to mocking, harsh words, bothered me. It felt like they were judging me, preying on me like vultures and using insults to tear me apart.

And I hated it. The stress that the people in my district placed on me was too much to handle at times. If you trained for the Games and you weren't the epitome of physical fitness, then you wouldn't go unnoticed by the others. At least, that was what I had experienced myself, anyway. It was a rare occurrence that the other trainees bothered to belittle others; most of the time, the people here were more concentrated on obtaining as much information as possible to waste their time doing that. However, I appeared to be an exception to this rule, since this particular trainee, Barute, seemed to take pleasure in wearing away at my self-confidence. According to him, I didn't live up to the high standards that my father had achieved during his Games, and that I wasn't worthy of being a victor's son at all.

And to him, it seemed like he had a valid point with his latest jibe. The newly-instated Quarter Quell this year prevented me from volunteering, although I hoped that the Capitol didn't think that little rule was going to stop me. I _will_ be the tribute for this year's Hunger Games – wherever they liked it or not – and I _will_ win. There was no way that I could fall short and be subject to further mocking by Barute. I had to be superior. No, I _was _greater than them, and what better way to prove this than by winning the event that we – me and the other Careers – revered so much? Compared to many of the malnourished, weakened children that hesitated when it came to the mere thought of killing, I was practically a shoo-in to be a victor. My versatility with weapons would grant me an edge over many of the lower districts, and it surely couldn't be difficult to outwit the mocking people that were called the 'Careers'?

Before he can say anything else, I swing my katana towards Barute, wanting nothing more than for him to leave me alone. So what if I wasn't as physically strong as the others were, or if I didn't look as intimidating as the majority of the other trainees? Why would you want to be, anyway? It only hindered you when it came to sneaking around, anything but. And nobody had ever won the Games by simply blundering around the arena with a sword. Being subtle and blending in with your competition was important too, but apparently such things meant little to Barute.

He barely manages to get out of the way as the sword swishes though the air where his head had been a few seconds ago, and he looks at me with surprise before his lips twist into a sneer.

"Psychopath," he snarls, although you can see the apprehension in his eyes at what I had just done. Still eyeing me warily, he backs away slowly, probably wondering if I was going to try and behead him again. I knew better than to think that my attempt on his life would keep him away from me for long. Chances are that he'd be back with more of his friends to 'teach me a lesson'. I liked to think it was because Barute thought he didn't stand a chance against me on his one.

My suspicions are only confirmed when he speaks again, "I'll get you later," he adds threateningly, "Don't think that you can get away with that."

"Oh, I won't," I reply sarcastically before he disappears. The only sign as to the fact that he heard me was the inappropriate gesture that he made with his hand as he stormed out of the (almost) empty training centre.

Considering the fact that it was only nine in the morning, this didn't come as some great shock to me. Presumably, everybody else thought that they had done all they could to achieve the most amount of votes, but I didn't feel satisfied with leaving it there. Or to be more specific, my father wasn't happy with the thought of me wasting my time dawdling or sleeping in when I could be training. He was the main reason that many people in the district consider me a disappointment. While he is the paragon of strength and brute force, I look quite wimpy – abet rather elegant and swift – in comparison. And if I managed to throw knives in the bullseye from ten metres away, then the great Solan Holt could do that from twenty.

Who really cared if I wasn't as good as he was? I still had enough skill in nearly every weapon to be able to hold my own in the Games, leading to my inevitable victory.

Sure, it was a little hypocritical of me to be so sure of myself and my abilities while I criticised my fellow trainees for being arrogant, but at least I didn't outwardly brag about how I would surely, hopefully be respected when I won. And really, who cared about morals and sticking to what was 'right'? These were merely things that people liked to drag around to elevate themselves higher than others; nothing but a vain attempt to give you the illusion of being better. But that façade, that pretence of being more 'pure' than others quickly dissipated when the possibility of death loomed over you. You'd be 'shocked' at how unaffected some people seemed to be when they betrayed or condemned another person to death.

So much for staying true to your beliefs. At least I didn't pretend to be a stickler for what was considered _moral._ I just went for whatever option suited me, and ignored whoever tried to scorn me for being so 'weak'.

"Riles?" Now another figure appears, although the slim, fragile-looking stature that I could see could never belong to Barute. Brushing aside some of her long black hair, the girl walks in, looking concerned, "You okay?"

I relax when I get a good look at one of the girls that tended to hang around me from time to time. Umbra Shool was the oldest of the three girls that seemed to be drawn to me, and was the most sensible and mature of them, "Yeah, just killing time before the Reapings," I say breezily, waving a hand dismissively in an attempt to look unaffected by my run-in with Barute.

She raises an eyebrow and looks curiously at me, but doesn't object to my words, "Well, there's not really much point in training today," she points out mildly, "Sleeping in would probably be a better way of preparing for the Capitol."

Umbra smiles at me as she finishes speaking, and the calmness that seemed to radiate off her in waves made me automatically smile back. The way that she didn't stress the words that she spoke or used them to dominate my actions in any way made me appreciate her company. Umbra was well aware of how much I disliked people who tried to force their opinions and thoughts onto you. The immense pressure I felt when people did that to me was not a feeling that I liked experiencing. However, it was a thing that I was subjected to on a daily basis back at home.

Maybe that was why I indulged myself so much in training independently. The only person who could push you further when you were alone was yourself, which I figured out to be a better idea than training with others.

After all, only you really knew what you were capable of.

"I suppose," I reply, "But training now just _makes_ me feel more prepared than the others," Even though training today wouldn't increase my chances of winning or even participating in the Hunger Games, it made me feel more confident about the prospect of being in them.

It was one of the things that my bullies liked to use against me; my desire to enter the Games which rivalled their passions. Apparently, my 'hypocrisy' made me lower down the hierarchy than the majority of the other trainees.

Unlike my tormentors, however, I actually had the determination and concentration required to succeed in the Games.

Umbra laughs, "Well you might want to go now; I heard that your father's looking for you and you know how he is."

Inwardly, I grimace at the thought of running into my 'easygoing' and 'chilled-out' father. He is definitely the driving force behind all of this; every dummy that I destroyed, every trainee that I bested in a straight fight was to prove to him that I was worthy of being one of the renowned Holt family line. He had been in the Games as well and that meant that he knew what he was doing. At least, that was what he was fond of telling me, anyway. As you can imagine, having my father be one of the most important citizens in District Two only led to the exceedingly high expectations that my parents and the rest of society expected of me. And I hated it.

Did people really think that the human mind was built to withstand all of the stress that people were so fond of burdening upon others? Did they really expect people to be capable of feeling the tension that plagued me without it having _some_ effect on that person's mind? Because sooner or later, that person would snap like my father had done, like I felt so close to becoming.

It was not an achievement that I wanted.

…

"And where have you been?"

This question, which was hissed in a venomous tone, was the first thing that greets me when the front door opens. I don't even need to look at the seemingly black eyes that are so similar to my own to know who it is. Who didn't know who my father was? He was one of the first tributes from District Two to win the Games using the method that had become so widespread in Districts One, Two and Four; by training for them. Being one of the first ever 'Career' tributes to win the Games had made him outstandingly popular with the Capitol, bordering on worship in some cases, and the requirements that he had set for being so famous had been passed down to me.

That's why I had to be better. That was why I _must_ be better than the other trainees. Most of them were only training in case they were Reaped, or for the fame and money. None of them really had a solid reason to win, while I needed to follow in my father's footsteps.

"Out training," It's those two words that I reply with as I step inside, finally making eye contact with the empty black eyes that belong to my father.

He looks at the sweat that gleams on my skin, and the slight panting sound that I'm making as I take in precious oxygen, "So you finally decide to try and improve your skills?" He snaps, "On the one day that it doesn't even matter? Nobody's going to care about the few minutes of exercise that you call 'training' if you're not voted in!"

I try and open my mouth to object, but my father had never been one to care for the opinions of others and continues on regardless, "You're useless."

Feeling that he had spoken enough, he spins around and practically marches out, leaving the carnage that his words had created in his wake without a single apologetic gesture. Anger, thick and hot as steel, flows though me at how easily he seemed to dismiss me. My father treated me like I was worthless, useless. Like he had just outright told me I was.

_Useless_. That one word seems to dance around in my head, taunting me with all the connotations that the word implied. It couldn't apply to me, it just couldn't. I still had potential to be something, to prove myself to Panem as someone that should be taken seriously. And I had dedicated my entire life to the Games; they were the only way forward. That was the path that had been decided for me, and I needed to be capable of fulfilling it.

No matter what happens at the Reaping, I _will _go into the Hunger Games this year.

* * *

**_Talon Galloway, 16,_**

**_District Two,_**

"Ready for your first _exciting_ year as a mentor?"

Whirling around, I'm treated to the sight of a pretty girl dressed all in eggshell-white skipping down the stairs. Her blonde hair had been curled into orderly ringlets, and her sensible dress showed no signs of being creased, despite the fact that she had been prancing around my house being a right pain mere seconds ago. Now she was observing me with her innocent blue eyes, eyes that belonged to a young child and not on this scheming, manipulative bitch that refused to leave me alone. I had always felt that way towards her, even before she decided to reveal her true colours to me, and my opinion of her hadn't been clouded by pity or sympathy over the months. Sympathy was something that I only gave away to a few people, and little miss _perfect_ here was not one of those unfortunate few.

That was hardly a surprise though; practically all of the people that I had once cared about were dead, and I hadn't even been given the opportunity to say goodbye to them properly.

I glare at this intruder that seemed hell-bent on making my life a misery, "Oh, it's _you_," I make sure to put deliberate contempt in my voice, "What do you want?"

She just laughs dismissively, "No need to be so rude," she pretends to simper, "I was only trying to give you some words of encouragement before you leave."

"That's the last thing that you were doing," I snap. It might have been quarter past one on Reaping Day, but there was only one other person here with me on the premises, and I highly doubted that they were up for the 'daunting' task of looking after my house while I was gone. They weren't even awake yet and besides, I didn't welcome their presence on what was rightfully mine. There was no way that I was leaving first before this lady did, and I wasn't talking about the little girl that was annoying me here when I said 'lady'.

Ha, like 'Ada' could ever be considered a woman, if sticking out her tongue at me was any clue as to how mature she was. There was no way that she could ever be an actual adult anyway, and it was all thanks to me. Attached to that thought was a burst of childish satisfaction at managing to defeat 'Ada' in that respect, which was the only _good_ thing about this whole situation anyway. Well, aside from the wicked amount of wealth that I had gained. You couldn't deny that obtaining enough money to last you the rest of your life was a good thing, and I did deserve it after everything that I went though. However, my imminent wealth couldn't wash away the memories that I had obtained during the Games.

Sometimes, I wished that I could go back to the kid that I had been before I had been Reaped into the Games, the child that had happily accepted their place as tribute, Arrogant and immature I might have been then, but at least I was happy and sure of myself. It felt better than the misery that seemed to engulf my life these days. Funny how near-death could change your perspective of the world, make you realise things that you never would have drawn a conclusion to before. It was a realisation that had come way too late for me though, and 'Ada's' presence made it impossible to forget.

"Well it's the least that I can do for you," the little girl continues on, sarcasm lacing her voice like poison, "I'd do _anything_ for you, Tallulah. I mean, why wouldn't I want to help the person that killed me, huh?" She begins to sound bitter as she spoke, "Might as well not let my death go to waste, right?"

"Don't call me Tallulah, _Ada_!" Childishly, I use the 'nickname' that I had insisted on calling her during last year's Games as my temper, something which I had never managed to tame, flares up. Irritated at this blatant reminder of what she had done, I glower at her, "Don't try and play the pity card with me. You deserved to die at my hand anyway after everything you did to me."

"It's Ava!" For a second, her aquamarine blue eyes flashed, before she quickly reverted back to the little-girl act that she was so fond of putting on, "And I was only doing what I had to in order to get home," Now her eyes looked as though they were welling up with tears, though I had learned early on that Ava was tougher than to be reduced to tears during anything as trivial as a conversation, "I was forced into this as well. I never volunteered."

"Oh please," I mutter, rolling my eyes, "Why are you even bothering me anyway? You're supposed to be dead."

This earns me a round of sarcastic applause, "Only just figured that out, have you?" Ava sneers, "I'm not even real; you're just pathetic enough to be guilty over my death," she spits rudely, making no stain on the royal red carpet in the process, "I'll never get why someone as worthless as you ever managed to defeat me."

_Pathetic?_ I think to myself, _I'm not pathetic. I never asked for her to be here._ Anger temporarily overwhelms my common sense as I grab the nearest object that I can find - a kitchen knife - and throw it forcefully in her direction.

Unfortunately, I don't get the pleasure of watching the knife sink into Ava's body. As I blink, she disappears, leaving nothing but the metal knife clattering loudly against the wall.

"Damn it," I throw another knife at the wall for good measure to make sure that she wasn't coming back, stomping my foot and pouting at how unfair this was.

_She was dead, she was dead. I had snapped her neck with my bare hands. Why wouldn't she go away?_

I had won the Hunger Games and she had lost; she shouldn't be able to reach me anymore. I was a victor after all, and Ava was just one of the dozens of little kids that perished in the Games. She had only been twelve, and she hadn't given Panem an opportunity to forget it. One would have been amazed at how easily she managed to manipulate everybody around her into thinking that she was only another one of the naive kids that you saw die tragic deaths on television.

Really, the only reason that I even knew she was pretending was because she had been arrogant enough to threaten me during the journey to the Capitol, presuming that I was too foolish and stupid to do anything about having a little kid threaten me. She had even managed to get me kicked out of the Careers, although that had backfired on her in retrospect. _All_ of her carefully-laid plans had failed her in the end, since she was now buried six feet under in the back of the main Training Centre, the one that I had been denied access to due to 'not being skilled enough' to gain entry to. Strange how I, the person deemed less 'qualified' for the Hunger Games had managed to win. The old me wouldn't have been surprised by this, thinking so highly of himself that he never considered the underdog from District Nine to be capable of wounding him, or the District Twelve girl, Ina, to be able to defeat him in a sword-fight.

However, that confident, arrogant boy had disappeared, and what remained of Talon was left wondering if training really guaranteed you victory in the Games. Sure, it helped, but it hadn't exactly meant much if the Gamemakers decided that you had outlived your usefulness.

Once you were in the arena, you didn't stand a chance. If the Capitol wanted you dead, then you may as well step right off your plate to save them the effort of killing you. It didn't matter one bit if you knew twenty different ways of handling a sword or if you had flawless aim with a bow. They didn't mean anything compared to the technology and power that the Capitol possessed, and you were only setting yourself up for disappointment if you thought otherwise. Unfortunately, I knew this from first-hand experience.

Naturally, I got annoyed when people spoke about the Hunger Games as if they were a useful, convenient tool to rebel against the Capitol.

_Idiots. Did they really think that it was that simple, that easy?_ None of them had even experienced the Games first-hand.

_They_ didn't know what it was like to be in the arena, faced with the realisation that you weren't as in control of the situation as you thought.

_They_ didn't know that the Capitol could - and would - hurt you outside the Hunger Games, behind the harmless colours of the Capitol city. Oh no, those rebels thought that they could inspire young children and teenagers to instigate another rebellion. Even the mere thought of it sounds ridiculous.

_They_ had no idea of what the Games could do to your life.

Once upon a time, I had been living in a middle-class house, enclosed deep in the mountains that made up a good part of District Two. I didn't have a lot of money, neither was I particularly well-known, but I had been content. I had my mother that looked after me, a few friends around my district, and I wasn't in poverty. I had been living a perfectly ordinary life, and I was fine with that. Not quite 'happy' yet, but the old me figured that winning the Games would have secured my place in this society and made me satisfied with my life. However, I could have dealt with being a typical citizen in District Two; training for the Games when young and working in the stone mines when I was older. There was no way that the plan that I had just mentioned could have gone astray; it was what the majority of my district did, and it was hardly difficult to adjust yourself to that life.

_"I accept my place as tribute!"_

Funny how six words could completely change your life.

I don't have much time to dwell on this though as a voice breaks me out of my reverie.

"Talon? Is everything alright?" I hear the unmistakable Capitol accent of my latest 'girlfriend' from upstairs.

Her name escapes me, but it not like that matters anyway. She means nothing but stress and misery for me, and I didn't feel inclined to make any effort to remember her. As soon as the Reaping for today was over, she'd be gone and I would be alone again. It's been a whole year after I had won the Games, but I still wasn't sure if I preferred being alone or stuck with the company of a spoilt brat like this girl. At least there was a chance that I could satisfy someone like the Capitol girl. Veena, I think her name was.

When I was alone with nothing to distract me, Ava would appear and taunt me about my victory. Telling me how I didn't deserve it, mocking me over the fact that I had been defeated multiple times by a 'sweet, little twelve year old girl'.

I had yet to find anything to make her go away.

"I'm fine," the tetchy tone in my voice says otherwise, "Why do you care?"

"So rude," she calls mockingly from upstairs, and I can hear her feet scurry down the stairs to meet me, "You seem to forget that _I'm_ in charge here, Talon."

"Oh, really?" I reply sarcastically, "Last time I checked, this was my house. Not yours."

Veena sniffs, "Why would I want to live here?" She laughs, "You think this is luxurious? Just wait until you see what my home is like."

I can only imagine what Veena's home looks like in the Capitol. It probably covered the area that the town square in District Two did, and I would be surprised if it didn't follow the multi-colour theme that the rest of the Capitol seemed to adore. In fact, her house would presumably be even more grandiose than the usual, as she apparently came from a family that was high-up in the Capitol. That had been the main reason why I hadn't rejected her 'generous' offer when I had received it from the President; her family were in a position to punish me even more than they had done when they had killed my remaining family members.

They had informed me that my family wasn't the only thing that I could lose, but I really couldn't see what else I actually had left that meant anything anymore.

_What could I possibly have left to give up?_

…

Situated on a gleaming silver tray were two envelopes. Concealed inside those were the names of two children that our district wanted to enter the Hunger Games this year. The lack of a Reaping bowl only drew attention to the importance of those envelopes. These children would be the ones that I would be mentoring this year, after all. There was a high possibility that the District Two tributes this year would be older than me; I had been fifteen when I had won the Games, and the typical trainee was usually seventeen or above. It was doubtful that an older tribute would pay much attention to anything that I would have to say.

Our escort, Goldilocks, claps as she trots in her (surprise surprise) gold high-heels over to where an Avox was holding the tray with a blank expression on their face. The androgynous uniform that the Avox wears plus the eerie make-up doesn't help me identify the gender of the Capitol slave, and I find myself scrutinising the person closely, trying to make out any tell-tale signs that gave away the person's gender.

"And the chosen representative for the First Quarter Quell is," Goldilocks neatly opens the envelope and unfolds the slip of paper that was nestled inside. The way that she words the condemning of a child – as if this was honourable, as if this was worthy of being celebrated – reminds me of last year, when I had thought the exact same way as she had done about the Games.

"Lyona Stonelef!"

The trilling of the escort's accent rings across the town square, broken only by a triumphant whoop from the girls' section. As the crowd parts, I'm treated to the sight of a tall, steely-eyed girl with auburn hair that had been scraped into an inanely high ponytail and a well-built body that any male trainee would envy. She's baring her teeth in what I suppose is her version of a smile, but reminds me of a feral lynx. This Lyona girl didn't seem to mind that her own district had voted her in; she probably saw it as an honour. The same as I had once done.

Her being chosen is met with a hearty round of applause from the section of the citizens not eligible for the Reaping at the possibility of a double victory by District Two. I can only imagine the Capitol looking gleefully on as to how readily we supported whatever they wanted. However, I had to admit that she stood a strong chance in the Games. Something about the overly confident way she held herself told me that she might feel as if she had too strong a chance, that she might think the odds were so in her favour that she couldn't possibly lose.

Oblivious to my doubtful thoughts and not sensing a possible dispute from Lyona's enthusiastic manner, Goldilocks snatches the second envelope from the tray, not sparing a second glance at the Avox as she efficiently opens it, a wide grin on her face that could have rivalled Lyona's predatory smile.

"And for the tribute representing District Two alongside Lyona in this year's Games is Riley-Iron Holt!"

This does not seem to go down with District Two as well as Lyona's Reaping had done. On the contrary, a fight seems to start between two tributes in the eighteen-year old section for the boys. Narrowing my eyes, I lean in closer. If this Riley-Iron kid had been chosen, then he would definitely win this fight without breaking a sweat, right?

It was impossible to see from here as the crowd around them blocked the view. They too, were intrigued at the outcome of the fight, although it was ill-fated to last long. And as soon as the thought had came to life in my mind, two Peacekeepers in spotless white intervened and clamped their arms around the more severely injured one that had striking black hair, rendering his hands useless. However, they fail to restrain the other, blond-haired instigator of the fight before he punches the first tribute straight in the teeth. This is followed by a burst of laughter from the blond-haired boy as he too, is dragged away by the Peacekeepers, and the first guy that must be Riley-Iron is escorted in a less-than-pleasant manner to the stage, where it is all too clear how badly he fared in that fight compared to the other – relatively uninjured – kid. There's a bright red mark on his cheek and his teeth seem to have started to bleed from the impact that must have been behind the punch. However, the most obvious detail of his appearance is the off-putting scar that slices across his left cheek. It looked like someone had dragged a mace across it. _How did he get that injury?_

Goldilocks obviously wasn't asking the same question as she smiles her bubblegum-fake grin again, "Ladies and gentlemen, I am proud to present you with your new District Two tributes for the Twenty Fifth Annual Hunger Games, Riley-Iron Holt and Lyona Stonelef!"

I can already tell from the arrogant smiles that both of them wear that they figured these Games would be easy to win, that they expected to win with flying colours and escape from this event unscathed.

I wonder how long it would be before they realise just what they were going to be put though, before they realise just what a massive mistake looking forward to death was.

* * *

**That last POV happened to be the victor from my previous (and now deleted) SYOT, and happened to be my weird way of writing the D2 Reapings. Those who were reading Twenty Four Years (an original title, I know) may notice that he's changed somewhat ;)**

**By the way, I wrote this on my tablet (which I am still relatively unused to), so I apologise for any errors present in this chapter. If you spot any, tell me so I can fix them as soon as possible. Thanks :)  
**


	9. From Prestige to Poverty - District 8

Quell it with Fire

The First Quarter Quell

District Eight Reapings

_**Astoria Blackthorne, 15**_

_**District Eight,**_

You'd be surprised at the things that you noticed when you knew nobody was watching you.

The way that the eyes of the poor lingered greedily on the ridiculously clad figures of one of District Eight's upper class citizens when they deigned to grace us with their presence was just one of the many things that many people remained deaf to. Those that had been bestowed with the riches that the Capitol gave out so sparingly seemed to be oblivious to the ominous glances that they received, the looks that were full of hunger for food and money alike. And those things that I had just mentioned – the deliberate ignorance of the wealthy, the greed from the very poor that was never satisfied – were only the subtle indicators of how twisted District Eight really was. It was a common myth around this district – a district that I simply refused to call my home – that the citizens of District Eight consisted of nothing but 'good, well-mannered' folk who actually 'cared' for others and overall, were so much more 'moral' than the Capitol.

Unfortunately, it seemed that I was the only person who _knew _otherwise.

District Eight may have been subdued by the Capitol, but it was clear that the hypocritical, judgemental attitudes of our 'benevolent masters' had rubbed off onto this district like the soot that dusted the streets. No matter what people may say, there were very few differences between the Capitol and District Eight when it came to attitudes. Like the Capitol, this district was willing to kill innocent people in order to get ahead. Hell, they were willing to sacrifice _their own children_ just so they could placate the Capitol, and did they even bother trying to protest against this?

Not a chance; according to Nova, District Eight hadn't even tried to rebel again when the Hunger Games had been instated. Instead, they had all cowered away and agreed to this without even the slightest bit of resistance. Considering the fact that District Eight was a large district, most people had hoped that the chances of their child being Reaped would be small enough to not worry about the Games personally affecting them.

Cowards. It shamed me to reside in such a pathetic, weak district that were not even willing to stand up for what they claimed was 'right'. Their hypocrisy only made it worse. Many a person here presume that they deserve the pity and sympathy of others because they are poor, yet they don't care about the fact that it was their weakness that allows two members of this society to die nationally every year.

Didn't the working classes of District Eight know that their situation could be so much worse than them living like the rest of the lower districts? They really should stop complaining and appreciate what they had, although I guess that you never knew how much you actually depended on something until it was gone. It was a feeling that I had become very familiar with, and it was something that I inspired a lot in other people when I was around, although only on a smaller scale. Well, it wasn't as if people would _really_ miss the few tidbits that I took now and then, right? Nobody else _really _appreciated how valuable expensive things were, anyway. District Eight only saw those priceless items as a way of proving their supposed superiority over everybody else, while the Capitol were spoilt enough to not even appreciate the gorgeous objects that the districts paid in tribute to them.

I wasn't like that though. Unlike most people these days, I could actually admire the effort that people put into making a certain object mean something. Sure, I wasn't a fan of people in general, but scorning what people could do wasn't a good idea, and you had to admit that humans were capable of doing and making great things. Things which I usually had an irresistible temptation to keep for myself.

It didn't even have to be that expensive; anything that caught my eye was something that I automatically _needed_ to have. If it looked expensive, or if the design of the trinket caught my eye, or if it was simply shiny, then I just had to have it. Anything beautiful or expensive _had_ to be worth paying close attention to, right? And what better way of ensuring that I got the chance to study the object than to steal it?

I suppose that people would call me a kleptomaniac, but I never paid them any attention. What use was that label going to serve me, anyway? Why should I care for what other people thought of me? It wasn't as if their petty thoughts were going to make this 'fixation' with stealing go away. I didn't even want it to; being genuinely desperate to obtain something served as a good motivator for me to be careful about it. True, it did sidetrack me from my main goal of surviving, and it was rare that I actually _used _the things that I stole, but there wasn't any point in worrying about all the issues that _could_ happen. Dwelling on what might happen if something went wrong would only increase the chances of said event happening, which was hardly a good thing, although it wasn't as if my life could get much worse, anyway.

Besides, there was a certain thrill that was attached to the thought of stealing. I just loved feeling the tension that coursed though me as I tried to snatch a prized possession of someone else without getting caught, and the satisfaction that served as another prize to me after I had gotten away from the scene of the crime, safe in the knowledge that I had successfully outsmarted yet another one of District Eight's idiotic, sheep-like citizens.

That had ended up being my downfall; my overconfidence in taking whatever I liked from others without being caught. Such was my arrogance that I had decided that scavenging among those only slightly better-off than me wasn't exciting enough, and I had thought that my agility, stealth and speed would be enough for me to sneak around the upper-class areas of this accursed district without being caught. Suffice to say, the security around the houses bordering the tower square was more difficult to penetrate than in the other parts of this district, and a Peacekeeper had caught me.

To add insult to injury, it had been the exact same Peacekeeper that had taken Nova away from me. I bet he was so _proud_ of the fact that he was indirectly responsible for doing away with two of the most notorious thieves in this district. After all, we were the ones that had the audacity to steal from the mayor's family on more than one occasion; a feat that few others had managed to achieve.

Well, it was obvious that I wouldn't be around to do anything more drastic to the mayor than take a fair share of their wealth and material items after today. Even though I was a capable person, there wasn't much I could do to punish the people that supported the Capitol if I was on a train to go into the Hunger Games. It was blatantly evident that my name would be the one that rang across the town square today like funeral bells. The Peacekeeper who had caught me had practically told me that I was going into this year's Games.

Well, maybe I was being overly paranoid since he hadn't outright said anything about the Games, but why else would he have unchained my handcuffs without even a whipping? He certainly hadn't done the same when he had caught Nova, and I sincerely doubted that he had suddenly undergone a personality transplant since that time two years ago.

In any case, I wouldn't be surprised if I was the girl that was chosen for this year's Games. It wouldn't have been the first time that the authorities that dictated this area had significantly upped the chances of an orphan or a troublemaker being reaped. Actually, they had probably done that last year, with a certain Alexandra Clark. I had heard of her before she had been reaped for last year's Games, mainly because her friends also had a love for performing rebellious actions in their orphanage and the Peacekeepers hadn't had a clue as to who had been causing all that trouble around the district. At least that was what I had thought, anyway. The lack of 'criminal' action around that area ever since her death in her arena had been enough of a tip-off to the other Peacekeepers as to who else had helped Alexandra, and without any warning, all of her close friends had disappeared from the orphanage that they lived in. That had been almost a year ago, and nobody had seen them since.

Tragic it may have been for the people that actually knew and liked the five children that were never coming back, but for me, it only made my life that little bit more difficult. Sure, it meant that there was less competition for the pretty objects that attracted me to them like baubles attracted magpies, but it also meant that any major incidents that occurred would be blamed on me, regardless of it I actually had anything to do with the crime. I suppose that most people would feel remorse for the 'young lives that had been brought to an untimely end' or whatever, but I merely felt irritation at this compromise to my survival. And survival to me was everything.

Glancing around the dimly-lit room, I smile at the collection of things that I had amassed over the years. A chain of paper-clips that had fascinated me with how they had linked together, the tarnished silver glint of a ring that was slowly rusting away and most importantly, the charm bracelet that never left my wrist. Naturally, it was expensive-looking, with delicate silver chains woven into an elaborate bracelet, with a few colourful stones dangling off the jewellery. I highly doubted that the stones were anything that the Capitol would consider valuable – no sapphires or diamonds or rubies were attached to this bracelet – but the bright, rich colours still managed to fascinate me, even now. Even though it wouldn't be anything much in the Capitol, or District One for that matter, I could still get a decent amount of money for it. However, I had no intentions of letting anybody else's greedy hands ruin the beauty of _my_ bracelet.

Nova had also given it to me as well; that was another reason why nobody else could ever have this. It was one of the few things that Nova had valued, and I wasn't going to let anybody else take one of the last things that I had to remind myself of her. She had been the one that had raised me to be this way: self-sufficient, independent and fully aware of how screwed up District Eight and the Capitol were. It wasn't as if Nova was my mother, although she might as well be since I had been in an orphanage when she had 'kidnapped' me.

Personally, I preferred the term 'illegally adopted', but officially, Nova had kidnapped me from the orphanage when I was a young child. She hadn't done it with entirely pure intentions though, although I hadn't expected her to. I had inadvertently witnessed Nova stealing a few clothes from the nearby store that resided opposite the orphanage and sensing an opportunity to relieve her of the loneliness of being on the streets, had taken me away from the orphanage and essentially helped me with how to live on the streets.

Naturally, I could have stayed in the orphanage, where you were _supposedly_ guaranteed food, drink and shelter, but strangely enough, those things were 'surprisingly' difficult to find in the charming place that I had once lived in. Come on, if those necessities were hard to obtain for a typical family in District Eight, then the chances of us insignificant, useless orphans being decently fed were non-existent. And being from one of the Capitol-owned buildings didn't grant you a reprieve from public execution by the Peacekeepers if you stepped out of line in the slightest way. With this in mind, you were probably better off living on the streets if you were skilled enough to evade the authorities and steal from those fortunate enough to have a place to sleep in.

I also kept on stealing from the mayor's family after Nova had gone. It was hardly the most sensible or mature thing to do, but I figured that inconveniencing the people that had caused me to suffer was the only way that I could really make them pay, even if it didn't really affect them that much. However, I liked to think that causing them all this trouble was worth the risk of stealing from them, although that could just be wishful thinking.

And today, I planned on sabotaging their house one last time before I was sent off to my almost-certain death. Some might say that I was being petty and overly vengeful, but these people had been responsible for taking away one of the few things that I held dear, and that wasn't something that I could forgive. Even if it had been a few years now ever since they had killed Nova, I still wasn't willing to leave anybody who had accepted the place of being a mayor. Nobody who was in league with the Capitol deserved my pity.

…

A pair of eyes, eyes as yellow and unnerving as those of an owl's, are the first - and only - sign as to the fact that someone had found me. I had barely managed to hoist myself up and enter the mayor's house via the window, making sure that no Peacekeepers were around to catch me. Sure, they were planning on handing me my death sentence this afternoon, but that didn't mean that I wanted them to take me into custody and ruin my plan. They needed to pay somehow, and I had been hoping that exploring their house would have helped me come up with a more sufficient plan for revenge than merely stealing from and wrecking their home. Evidently, someone must have been deliberately hidden in the shadows, as if that person had been waiting for me.

This is further proved when a rugged, skinny-looking kid steps out from the doorway that had shrouded him in shadow. It was most likely his unassuming stature that meant I hadn't noticed his presence before now, since he stood out a lot compared to the typical, pale-skinned kids like me that roamed the streets. For starters, it appeared that he was wearing artificial contact lenses, which was an obvious clue as to his social standing. I mean, there was no way that anybody could possibly have eyes of his colour naturally, right? A second clue as to his 'superior' status in society were the clean, well-made clothes that he wore, unless a grey, long-sleeved sweatshirt that had obviously been washed recently were the norm around District Eight. Unlike most of the upper-class citizens however, this person didn't seem to care about how they came across to others. His hair was tangled and knotted, and the messy ponytail that he had tied it up in didn't help make his hair look any more presentable.

His eyes are definitely the most obvious feature as to who this person was though. Who didn't know who the mayor's son was? Even if he didn't have such a despicable disposition, it was guaranteed that I would know about him: his family had been the ones to condemn Nova to her fate, after all. Did you really think that I would forget the people behind that crime? Sure, it may have been around two or so years ago, but I was a firm believer in vengeance, and this family hadn't suffered anywhere near enough for me to feel satisfied.

"Aw look, if it isn't a cute little baby. You're up a little early, aren't you?" I ask, my patronising tone ruined by the harsh rasp of my voice. Ever since Nova had died, I seldom felt the need to speak, and it was rare that I encountered, let alone spoke to others. As a result, my voice was little used, and to be honest, I had completely forgotten how to act politely around people. It was no surprise that I lacked social skills, and I didn't care to learn how to act 'appropriately'.

Unbelievably, this doesn't seem to bother him, which was a surprise since I was the intruder here. Instead, he just giggles at me, which was not a good alternative. It was a horrible, twisted thing, punctuated with the occasional snort that didn't sound too healthy. Although he must have noticed me staring in disbelief at his lack of anger over me invading his house, he makes no attempts to stop on my behalf. When he's finally got over whatever I had done to set him off, he brushes a strand of his hair out of his eyes, allowing me to get another glimpse at the strange amber colour.

Now he smiles innocently at me, although it's obvious that he's not really trying to appeal to my non-existent sympathy. Something about the way that he observed me definitely reminded me of a predator staring at an oblivious mouse that had wandered into its lair. It was not a comparison that made me feel any more comfortable, "It's my house, which I didn't give you permission to enter."

He points this out calmly, not appearing to be fazed by my less-than-classy appearance. For some reason, he didn't even look surprised at my arrival. Almost like he was used to this.

"Wow, only just figured that out, have you?" I reply before thinking, feeling the need to make a comment over just how pointless his remark had been. Inappropriate it may have been, but I liked having the last word in any given conversation. Call me childish for taking pleasure in such a thing; it wasn't as if I would care.

"You hurt my feelings," he grins viciously at me, making it obvious that I hadn't affected his 'precious' feelings in any way, "So I'm going to hurt you now. Is that a fair trade?"

"No way. I'm not letting a psychopathic brat like you anywhere near me."

He giggles again, which only serves to irritate me more. Not only does he have to be awake and here in this room at the exact same time that I decide to sneak in, but apparently, something about me was entertaining him, which wasn't something that I appreciated. Also – as embarrassing as it may be to admit this – this boy posed a threat to my mission. He may only be a minor inconvenience to me, but I needed to find some way of taking him out of the picture.

Well, I'm sure that wouldn't be too difficult; it was doubtful that I would need to resort to anything as drastic as stabbing him to render him unable to report me for the few hours I had left before I was Reaped today. I could probably pick up one of those gorgeous crystal vases and smash it over his head instead, although it really would be a shame to ruin the smooth surface of the glass and splinter it with cracks. Daring to take a glance at where it was situated to make sure that there wasn't anything obstructing my path, I lunge forwards and snatch it up, preparing to knock out this kid with it. However, it appears that he has already managed to guess at my intentions and was well out of the way by the time I realise this.

His eyes suddenly flare up with anger and he withdraws what appears to be a jagged piece of stone that he had evidently been hiding in his pockets before slashing it down hard. Taken off guard, my reflexes only just prevented me from nursing a wound to my stomach or chest, but I hiss in pain regardless as it tears a gash in my arm, and the pain – faint but persistent like a wasp's sting – is accompanied by a faint line of blood welling up from the cut. Eyes briefly glancing over to assess how severe the injury was, I fail to avoid his next attack and he barrels into me, using his full force to shove me backwards.

My head must have been knocked against a table as he does this, for pain explodes in my head as I fall onto the floor, disorientated.

The last thing I hear before the darkness took me was the boy's uncontrollable, insane laughter taunting me.

* * *

_**Velvet Red, 12**_

_**District Eight,**_

I relax slightly and manage to stop giggling as the girl's dark green eyes become unfocused and her face loses some of the meanness that had dominated her features. She almost looks shocked, as if she couldn't believe that a little boy like me had been able to hurt her. It was a look that I had become familiar with during my childhood, and although people had become more aware of my existence since that time when I was eight years old, people still seemed to be slightly awed and freaked out when I was around them, although I didn't really mind this. Much as I preferred to be left alone – mainly because nobody in District Eight wished me well – it did get a little tiring when everybody who encountered me immediately took a disliking to me before I had even talked to them. Wasn't there one single person in this district that didn't rely on the opinions of their peers to make a judgement on something?

Even this girl, a girl that had never met me before, had looked at me like a was a piece of dirt on her shoe that had to be eliminated to make things fine again. What had she been expecting, anyway? Did she really think that I wasn't going to do anything about the fact that she had tried to break into my house? I was perfectly entitled to do what I liked with her while she was here. However, there wasn't much fun in hurting her now; she wouldn't react to anything that I did, or try to fight back or even say anything defiant.

No, there wasn't any point in ending her life now. And besides, I don't think that she had been intending to outright kill me. If her primary aim had been to kill, then surely she would have brought a weapon with her beforehand. And what was the point in killing someone who had never tried to hurt you in return? You didn't feel as obliged to get revenge on them if you wantonly attacked everyone in sight. Despite what everybody else thought, I was perfectly capable of thinking logically. In fact, I was the only person around here who actually analysed and assessed situations correctly; it was everybody else who allowed their irrational fears and stereotypes to cloud their judgement. Naturally though, nobody seemed to want to pay attention to what I had to say, since I didn't fit in with society and the 'typical' way of thinking that dominated Panem. Apparently, taking a life was a criminal offence now, conveniently ignoring the fact that twenty three children were killed every year just for the sake of 'maintaining the peace' and to 'prevent rebellion'. That was blatantly telling everyone that even the lives of 'innocent' children were worthless, and that the Capitol didn't have to adhere to the rules that they had set for us.

Hypocrites, the whole lot of them. They were all as callous and snobby as each other, remaining deliberately oblivious to real life and caring only for those that were good enough for their standards. Yeah, it was safe to say that I hated the Capitol and how they lived, but not in a way that made me want to rebel against them; there was no way that I could do anything about the Capitol on my own, and since they had never directly done anything to me, I didn't feel motivated to do anything about them.

Selfless I was not, although everybody was selfish in some way, anyway. People never acted purely for someone else; if they stood up for their sibling, it would only be because that person felt insulted that _their_ family had been considered worthless enough to be insulted. If anyone sacrificed their life for their friend, it was because that person had been thinking about how _they_ wouldn't be able to cope if their friend was gone. See? There was always some ulterior motive behind peoples' supposedly 'kind' actions, and I wasn't hypocritical enough to consider myself an exception. The only difference was that I actually admitted to being selfish and looking out for myself and those that mattered to me (which was a grand total of one person). Sure, I didn't do anything about that 'undesirable' trait, but I was aware of it.

Turning my attention back to the teenage girl, it strikes me how different she looks in her sleep. No longer were her lips twisted into a contemptuous sneer, nor was she giving me a cold, harsh glare anymore. Mind you, that would be because she had been slammed rather forcefully into the shelf that she had snatched the vase from, meaning that the impact had rendered her unconscious. However, the non-existent concern that I had mustered up for her was overwhelmed by the sight of small, red beads of blood seeping out of the cut I had made on her arm. The colour immediately draws my attention away and I lean down to take a closer look, fascinated. Call me morbid and psychopathic, but there was a certain joy attached to the sight of blood. Wasn't it interesting how this plain, unremarkable red substance sustained life in human beings?

It wasn't so much the actual appearance of blood that intrigued me so much as what it represented to me. To most people, the presence of blood was not something that warranted much of a positive reaction, if the rash, scared actions of those that had tried to hurt me in the past proved anything, but I thought otherwise. Despite what other people thought, blood showed that you had managed to inflict pain on that person, that you held the power to hurt them, make their bodies react in ways that they had no control over. You could make them do what you wanted in order for that feeling to stop and go away. People would do anything to prevent themselves being hurt, and that meant that you had control over them. Pain was even better than poison at addling your decision-making skills and reducing you to your most basic instincts. It was another one of the things that pain could do, and I couldn't deny the fact that wielding it was a powerful weapon. It might be a little strange of me to enjoy pain when I had detested the thought of it so long ago, but I had become so used to feeling pain that I may as well endure it without complaining. I even enjoyed what it could do, just as long as it wasn't me that was being injured, of course.

Where was the fun in hurting yourself?

Doing that would just be too easy, and besides, I already knew that I was in control of myself. Hurting myself would do nothing but bring back the unwanted memories that I hated reflecting on, memories of me being at the mercy of others and being so helpless.

I still remembered the blood that had always seemed to stain my skin carmine red instead of the pale tan that it was supposed to be, mixing with the tears that had used to run freely down my face. Tears that had only been looked at as another sign of weakness and something that I should be punished more for. I could still remember how my skin had been bruised and scratched for making the simplest mistakes, how I had been told over and over that I shouldn't have done that, that I wasn't allowed to take control of my life in an unsuccessful bid to make it better. They had tried to make me regret doing such a thing, but I couldn't care less. In fact, I would happily do it again if it meant that my mother stayed out of harm's way.

The consequences to my reputation, however, was probably the main reason that I was in this position today as one of the most hated people in District Eight. None of the District Eight residents ever bothered to help me out, or even think for a second how I might be feeling or hear my side of the story before coming to their conclusions. Even the Peacekeepers had stood by and deliberately turned a blind eye to it. I didn't even want to think about the reason why.

That didn't matter now though; it couldn't do. It had been years ago since I had been at the mercy of anybody else, and I was sure that I had made it clear that anybody else who tried to assert a position of dominance over me would regret it. However, my tendency to be 'overly' violent and sadistic towards others made most 'sane' people wary of me. Anybody would think that I was nothing but a sadistic little boy who couldn't control himself. Their misinterpretation of me was almost insulting, but there wasn't anything I could do to change their opinions of me, and it wasn't as if I actually wanted the respect of the District Eight residents anyway. I just wanted people to leave me alone, but it was a wish that I was doomed to never be granted. Just my status in society meant that I was deemed to be worth more than the other citizens in District Eight, and my previous actions had done nothing to help people forget about me.

All I wanted was to live my life without any interruptions. Why couldn't they just understand that?

"Velvet? Are you ready for the Reaping yet?" A kind voice calls from upstairs. I can hear footsteps as she descends down the stairs, and I know that I'll have no time to drag off the mystery girl before my mother sees her, although the girl's safety is none of my concern.

Appearing in the doorway, my mother's azure blue eyes widen as she takes in the sight of the girl sprawled out unceremoniously and me holding the sharp piece of stone that I had used to attack her with.

Much to my relief, she does not immediately scream obscenities at me or shun me away for how bad this situation looked, which was one of the reasons that I could stand her company. Unlike many others, my mother did not judge me for my actions, and actually understood and tried to protect me from the world instead. It was a part of her maternal instinct that wasn't really needed, as I was perfectly capable of looking after myself, but if it meant that she cared for me, then I would put up with it.

"Velvet," her voice is calm, which might have struck some people as weird, but was something that I considered to be normal in this household. It was not actually a rare occasion that someone had attempted to hurt or kill me. You kind of got used to it after a while, "Did she try and hurt you?"

"She tried to knock me out," I answer honestly, giving the stranger a quick glance. Curiously, I notice the poor, shabby clothes that she wore and the layer of dirt that coated her skin, "I don't think she comes from a rich family. Can I keep her?"

The casual tone in which I ask the last question and the cheeky smile playing on my lips suggests that I'm not being entirely serious, although it would be nice to have someone to play with that was around my own age. Most people were too scared of me to even talk to me, let alone play a game. It did get awfully lonely sometimes, not having anyone else around. Maybe if I amputated this girl's legs, then she wouldn't be able to run away and then she'd be much more willing to be friends with me, right? If she knew that I could hurt her, then she'd play along to avoid being hurt, wouldn't she?

My mother just laughs softly, "No Velvet, you can't keep her. She isn't a pet." She points out unnecessarily, smiling, "Although you can have one if you want, darling."

"No, I don't," I say abruptly, my words blunt and insensitive. Having a pet would mean that my mother's attention would be diverted away from me in order to look after that animal. It was bad enough that my mother was the new mayor of District Eight, meaning that she was usually preoccupied with running District Eight, but at least she hadn't decided to have any more children. I was the only child that she had ever given birth to, and I liked it that way. More children would mean that my mother's attention would be divided between me and that child, and my mother belonged to me.

Nobody else was allowed to take her away. She was _mine_.

"Well thanks for clarifying that for me," My thoughts are derailed by a rude and sarcastic voice, "I would have never guessed that I wasn't a pet if you hadn't said so."

By the time that I look up, the girl has already made her way over to the open window which she had entered the house. There's a smug grin on her face as she watches us, leaning against the frame slightly. The speed and stealth which she must have moved with led me to believe that she hadn't been as affected by the brief scuffle as I had thought.

This girl was a lot smarter than she looked then if she had feigned being unconscious, although that had been a risky move on her part. It wasn't as if she had any way of stopping me from hurting her even more than I originally had while she was 'unconscious'.

I move slightly in front of my mother in case the thief decided to try and hurt her, but she doesn't make any attempts at attacking us. The girl just rolls her eyes at me before she jumps out of the first-floor window and sprints off, not even sparing us a glance to see if we were chasing her before she disappeared. My mother just looks resolutely at the space that the girl had been in mere seconds ago before turning around, effectively dismissing the incident.

"Going back to my earlier question Velvet, do you want to go to the Reaping now?" She asks in a perky voice that sounds a little too strained for my liking.

"Aren't you going to do anything about her?" I ask, surprised. It was unlike my mother to ignore anything that might threaten my well-being.

My mother just smiles again, "Don't worry, sweetie," she responds, "I won't let her hurt you."

…

Waiting in line with the other children, I note with amusement the scared looks on their faces as they wait to have their blood taken. All of them – even the weakest, most pathetic ones – thought that they would be the ones sent off to the Capitol today. It was just another example of how self-centred people could be, thinking that everything revolved around them. Not that I was an exception to this or anything; I was most likely going to be Reaped anyway. It was common knowledge that I was almost universally hated among the citizens here, although that was hardly a surprise to me.

I barely feel a thing when the Peacekeeper pricks my finger, too busy concentrating on the way that the small bead of blood gleamed in the dim sunlight. The red colour was a refreshing contrast from the dull greys and sage browns that dominated District Eight and I gently smear it over the cut that the Peacekeeper had made, giggling slightly. This only earns me several fearful looks from the other twelve year old children that were making an effort to avoid me. It was enough to make me laugh even harder, and even the escort narrows his eyes as he tries to find the person that seemed to be laughing in the face of the Hunger Games. His eyes land on me and I wave mockingly back, which only makes him clench his jaw in irritation. It was probably a good idea that I was making a good impression on the escort, since it was very likely that I would be getting to know him more once I had been picked.

I seem to have aggravated the escort enough for him to walk over to the glass bowl that held the name of the girl tribute and snatch it up in a way that could be considered 'inelegant' by the Capitol. Still scowling with displeasure, he calls out the name of the doomed girl.

"Astoria Blackthorne."

There's silence for a moment, and then you can hear the crowd from the fifteen year old girls section move aside to let Astoria pass. I was fairly tall for my age, so it's not long before I get a glimpse at the female tribute. Her long, dark brown hair was tied back in a ponytail, allowing me to see the malevolent glare that she was directing at everyone. Not once did it falter as her narrowed eyes raked the crowd of children. Her being chosen for the Games hadn't warranted any kind of dramatic action from anyone either, leading me to believe that nobody cared about her being Reaped.

I can still see the cut that I had made on her arm as she strode up towards the stage, practically radiating hostility. Astoria didn't look particularly surprised at being Reaped, which meant that breaking into my house wasn't the only thing she had done to get onto District Eight's bad side. Her wiry build and alert expression made her seem like a strong competitor in this year's Games.

The escort gives Astoria a confused look, as if he can't decide wherever to be happy at the prospect of a reasonably capable tribute or disgusted by Astoria's grimy appearance, but he just shrugs and picks out the slip that has the boy tribute's name on it.

"Velvet Red."

Although the escort successfully punctuates my name with his foreign accent, he fails at making me feel shocked or terrified at having to enter the Hunger Games. Not that it was his fault or anything; it was rather hard to surprise someone by stating the obvious. I mean, it wasn't as if I was someone that the district wouldn't gladly be rid of or anything, and it seemed that District Eight had based their votes over which of their own children didn't meet the standards that they desired in their citizens the most. Who cared about having a tribute become victor when you single out the black sheep in the district?

It was obvious that my district did not plan on me coming back home alive.

I do not even have to push my way though the other children. Instead, they generously make a path for me so that I wouldn't trip over their feet as I walked up to the stage. I'm treated to the majority of the children watching me with mean smiles as I casually shuffle forward, watching as their eyes take in my scruffy, unkempt appearance that was at odds with the wealthy status that I held in this district. Apparently, wearing baggy, long sleeved clothes that were as grey as the soot that dusted this district wasn't considered fitting for someone in the upper-class section of society.

The escort looks at me sceptically when I reach him, but I pay him no attention. My eyes are fixated on my mother, who is looking at me with a stunned expression, her blue eyes wide in shock and rapidly filling up with tears. Even after everything I had done and she had still held onto the belief that it wouldn't be me that everybody would have voted for.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I give you your tributes for the Twenty Fifth Hunger Games; Astoria Blackthorne and Velvet Red!"

Much to the surprise of the escort, this statement was met with a positive reaction, as a round of hearty applause was heard. It started off with a few people jeering at the two of us from the adults' section, but had quickly escalated and now the whole district seemed to be celebrating the fact that they had willingly sent two of their own to their deaths.

The hatred in Astoria's gaze only deepens at this blatant sign of approval at what they had done to her, but when she catches me staring, she clenches her fists at me. It was apparent that she hadn't forgiven me for attacking her earlier, and I doubted that I'd be getting any support from her in the Games. Scratch that, it appeared that I would now have to fend completely for myself.

Good thing that I was used to looking after myself.

* * *

**Over halfway though the Reapings now, even though this one is probably full of me rambling on more than usual. I'm surprised that nobody is bored yet xD Anyway, I haven't explained all of Velvet's history in this chapter; you'll have to find more about that later :P**


	10. To see the Daylight - District 12

Quell it with Fire

The First Quarter Quell

District Twelve Reapings

**_Dandelion "Dani" Wildflee, 12_**

_**District Twelve,**_

The light tinkling of a bell alerts the miners to my presence, and they look up hungrily at me as I carefully make my way down into the mine shaft, holding a small basket of food in one hand.

"Anyone hungry?" I call out, just in case the specks of mud that I had loosened hadn't alerted everybody to my presence.

It was a stupid question anyway; the miners were always hungry. I would know this from working down here a lot. Not once had the miners turned down the meagre supplies that I managed to scrape up for them, although judging by the way that the coal-stained outfits that they wore hung limply off their figures, they would never turn their noses up at the food that I gave to them from time to time. Did it matter that it wasn't the softest, finest bread from the Capitol? No, because this stuff filled people up, giving us the strength to keep on working and do our assigned jobs correctly, and that was what really mattered.

Quickly, the miners all assemble around me, waiting with barely-concealed impatience as I rip apart the loaves of stale bread with one grubby hand and give one to each miner. The food that I gave out wasn't very sanitary, since it had been stored in my basket and dumped in the corner of my dusty, worn-down house before it had reached here, but nobody was complaining. Even these dirt-caked loaves, disgusting as they may look even to me, were worth enough for them to be stolen here. If I was anybody from the Capitol, then I'd find it hard to believe that on most days, a miner would be lucky to eat one of these loaves in a whole shift, but here it was only another reminder of the oppressing starvation that gripped and caused more suffering and oppression than the Capitol could ever hope to achieve. Hungry people became desperate for food, meaning that society in District Twelve had been reduced to its most basic components.

This was the place that I happily called home.

The dirt was hardly a problem to me, although I had been called a 'street rat' a few times before for my apathy towards having mud smeared on my skin. Like there was any point in trying to keep clean; there was dirt everywhere here, a mixture of charcoal blacks, sage browns and cloud greys merging together to form District Twelve, so it wasn't as if being filthy was anything new to us. You barely noticed it anyway - only the occasional flash of pale skin that wasn't covered in dirt reminded me of my 'predicament' - and it was actually kind of helpful. It could get really cold and nippy down in the lower areas of the mines, the areas that were so cold that you could see your breath even in the summertime, and having the dirt coat your skin did kind of help you stop feeling the cold as much. Although I really hated going down into the deeper mines when it was dark. Call me childish for having this fear that you presumed little children possessed, but the dark frightened me. You couldn't see anything, you couldn't sense anything that you could rationalise aside from your own breathing and the thud thud thud of your heart that acted like a target for whatever was hiding to find you and -

Well, it was safe to say that I was scared of the dark, stupid as that sounds. When you were cut off from everybody else, when your senses became worthless, that was when I got scared. Being in the darkness allowed your wildest thoughts to take over you, to play tricks on your stunned mind and scare you. I would never understand how people could act perfectly normal in the dark.**  
**

Sure, it was pretty hard to see anything in the mines, and it was quite nerve-wracking for me to work here, but the fact that by helping my fellow citizens mine the coal that fueled Panem, I was indirectly contributing towards the well-being of my country helped me overcome my fears for most of the time. I may only be approaching my teenage years, but I was still perfectly capable of lending a hand to the adult miners by using my size and observant eyes to test for any places where the coal might collapse. It was a common fate here to miss those places and end up losing a limb if it suddenly broke free and tumbled down the shafts where you were working, and although I had no way of knowing how many lives I had managed to save from this fate, I liked to think that I had helped improve the chances of getting though the workday without being injured. This may sound really stupid, but I liked the feeling of helping others, even if it did mean that I had to be put in situations that I found uncomfortable. I mean, being worried about the dark was actually kind of petty when you compared it to the dangers attached to mining.

My troubles about facing the shaft must have been obvious as one of the miners gives me a concerned look, "Miss, are you sure you want to be here right now? After all, the Reaping is today."

I quickly give him a bright smile, "Oh, I don't mind. I may as well do something productive before going to the town square. It doesn't start for a while yet anyway."

"This is your first year that you're eligible, isn't it?" He looks pityingly at me, possibly feeling sorry for the fact that I was at risk of being put in the Hunger Games today, "Well, at least you won't get picked."

"Thanks," I say awkwardly, unsure of how to respond to what I think he thought were encouraging words. Because even if I wasn't chosen, that was still at the expense of another life, regardless of wherever the odds for every tribute were 'one out of twenty four'.

District Twelve still hadn't managed to win the Games after twenty five years, and it was well-known that once you were Reaped, you were pretty much as good as dead. More often than not, our tributes ended up as bloodbaths, although last year had been a strange exception to this rule, considering the fact that both tributes managed to survive to Day Six before a combination of an octopus mutt and a stray Career had overpowered both of them. Still, it had managed to boost moral in some of the children that were still eligible to be Reaped, although they liked to forget that both Ina and Altair had been more capable - and well-fed - than the majority of our district, including me.

Oblivious to my reflections of the Games, the miner continues, "Well, you might as well get ready, Dandelion. I'm sure you'd much prefer playin' with your friends instead, wouldn't you? And you're only twelve; you're not bound to work here anyway."

I decide not to tell him that I didn't actually have many friends to speak of. It was clear that he was trying to do me a favour, and there was no real reason why a child like me should be working down here anyway. The official age that you were enlisted into the mines was eighteen, so me starting work six years earlier than necessary was considered a little strange by most of the others.

"Thank you," I curtsey politely, bowing my head slightly before scurrying out of the mines and down the hill towards the plain, unassuming houses that surrounded the coal mine I had just excited. It took hardly any time for me to skip down that hill, my mood happier than it had been initially as I was eager to spend more time with my family before I was required to attend the Reaping.

If I was truly honest with myself, I didn't really see why I had to go anyway. How likely was it that someone as young as me would accumulate the most votes in this district anyway? Sure, this was a small district, where a dozen votes could go a long way towards securing your fate in these Games, but it wasn't as if I had done anything that bad, anyway. For the most part, I remained unknown among District Twelve, although the miners seemed to have a soft spot for me and liked being in my company. There was no logical reason why I should be picked. Exhaling, I smile as I try to reassure myself that there was no way that anybody would pick me.

"Hey! Dandelion!" A voice calls out from behind one of the houses, and I turn around just in time to see two girls dressed in gorgeous pink satin prance over to where I was standing. The smiles on their faces only widen as they watch dismay colour my expression. You see, it wasn't entirely true that I was well-liked by everyone. Actually, most of the upper-class citizens of District Twelve were oblivious to how the poor workers helped them and were under the impression that they were superior to everybody else in this district purely because of their status. Mind you, there weren't many people that were wealthy enough to have nice clothes and food, so I guess it made sense. That didn't make their attitude any more pleasant, however.

Still smiling, they surrounded me, critically observing me with their eyes and scoffing slightly every time they found something about me that didn't meet their standards. One of them - a girl that I know as Colalynn - reaches out a finger to touch me, but then recoils dramatically away, noticing the dirt that covered my skin.

"Ew, have you even heard of a shower?" She asks me, "Anybody would think you were some savage _animal_."

"Maybe she is," Another girl says, shoving me hard in the chest and making me stumble backwards, "She's the one that has to dig around in the dirt for coal like some rat, after all."

Colalynn snickers at the girl's words before bending down and - with a grimace on her face - scoops up a few grains of dirt and flicks them in my direction. It gets caught in my messy brown hair, barely warranting my attention. Even though I barely react to this, the two of them giggle uncontrollably, apparently taking satisfaction in Colalynn's small, insulting action. Before I know it, both of them are digging at the ground, trying to grab large chunks of mud and grass and pelt them at my head.

I can't say that the mud has much effect on my hygiene, but the sudden change in behaviour from Colalynn stings a little bit. The reason I knew her name was because I had once been friends with her. We had met when she had injured her hand badly when she had apparently fell on it weirdly, dislocating the bone. She had been very young then and hadn't cared so much for social statuses when I had helped make her hand better. In fact, she had been more than willing to be friendly with me, and it wasn't as if I minded the extra scraps of food that she had often given me as payment. However, when her older, less tolerant siblings had found out, they had tried to stop Colalynn seeing me again, telling her that I was a filthy little girl who would end up ruining Colalynn.

Unfortunately, she had believed them, and now she pretended that we had never been friends in the first place. Nowadays she - along with her siblings - preferred to treat me like the rest of the lower-class workers' children in the Seam. This kind of treatment wasn't just reserved for me - they treated the others with equal disdain and scorn - but Colalynn seemed to make a point of picking on me when I was alone. I think it was her way of reassuring herself that she had never ever been associated with the likes of me.

"Even her name says it all. She's nothing but a scraggly, unwanted weed." The other girl sneers, picking up a stray dandelion that had been happily planted on the hill and trying in vain to throw it at me in order to prove her point. Clearly, she hadn't thought about the fact that it was rather difficult to throw a dandelion very far. Neither did she realise that it was possible to eat that dandelion and that she was wasting food. I don't bother pointing this out though, since this would only encourage them to mock me further.

"You do realise that you're doing exactly what you're criticising me for, right?" I point out reasonably, gesturing to their muddy hands, "You're hardly any cleaner than I am."

The two girls glance to each other, realising that I - the 'dirty street rat' - actually had a valid point. However, they don't bother trying to answer to this, choosing to move onto another subject which they felt they could get the upper hand in, "Who cares about your opinion? You're going into the Games today; nobody's going to care about you when you die in the bloodbath."

This takes me off-guard, and I'm lost for words as the implications of what they've said sink in, "Wh-what? You can't be serious!"

"Oh yes we _are_," Colalynn puts childish emphasis on the last word of her sentence, "We all had to choose somebody to go into the Games, and why shouldn't we pick the weirdo girl that has nothing better to do than work herself to an earlier death than usual?" She pouts moodily at me, her dislike for me evident in every little detail of her body language, from the furrowing of her eyes to the clenching of her fists as she glares at me.

"Yeah, we're practically doing you a favour, Weed. You're disgusting, _wanting_ to work in the mines earlier than someone like you has to do. At least the other Seam kids have enough sense to starve to death in their own houses."

I blink, taken back by how they seemed to look down on those that actually liked the prospect of serving Panem and actually being useful, "You're voting me in because I like helping out around the district? Since when was it any of your business what I do?"

The other girl rolls her eyes, "Were you not listening? We had to vote somebody in that we didn't like, so don't go acting all high-and-mighty around us. You had to pick someone too, so you're not so great either."

"Who else even is there to pick in this dumb place?" Colalynn mutters sulkily, suddenly acting in a less brash manner than she had been before, as if she was realising how picky she had been by potentially condemning a twelve year old to the Games.

She did have a point though; there was hardly anybody around here that presented you with an obvious choice for winning the Games. Most children here were too malnourished to be any threat and although there were some hunters around, they were unlikely to be chosen specifically this year; a substantial amount of food that you could buy on the market was brought in by them, and nobody wanted to risk losing a supply of food by voting one of them in. Due to aforementioned starvation, there weren't many troublemakers around here either. Not that crime was rare around here, but most of the children who did resort to the occasional stealing of food were unlikely to be caught.

Really, the matter of who was voted in would be put down to who you didn't like.

Colalynn's friend turns around, effectively dismissing me, "We're wasting our time with her. Come on, we need to clean up before the Reaping starts." Clumsily grabbing Colalynn's hand, she starts dragging her towards the merchant side of town. Before she disappears, she spares me one last glance and calls out mockingly, "Have fun at the Reaping!"

...

"Father!" My voice shatters the quiet atmosphere that seemed to dominate my house, quietly closing the door behind me as I did so, "Father, are you ready?"

There's no reply, although I wasn't really expecting one. He was probably upstairs and it was rare that he reacted to anything that didn't directly affect him, if the fact that he usually stared unseeingly into the distance was a good clue as to how much he paid attention to his surroundings. Well, he wasn't always like this, since he was still required to work in the mines, but when he was somewhere quiet, the memories would return and he would fall silent. Unlike me, he allowed the general mood of District Twelve to affect him and his once lively spirit had succumbed to the misery that seemed to be present in everybody's minds around here. Not that I could blame him or anything; it hadn't always been just the two of us. Once upon a time, my mother had been around as well, although I couldn't really remember her very well. I had been nine when she had died of starvation, and I could still vaguely remember the confusion that I had felt at her sudden - to me - death. Sure, it was obvious in retrospect that my mother was being whittled away by the starvation that was all too common here, but I had only been nine years old then and had been oblivious to the warning signs that she was dying. I hadn't even suspected that she might have been unwell until I had woken up one day and realised that she wasn't moving from her bed.

Suffice to say, it had been a massive shock to me back then, and I guess it might be the reason that I was so aware of the world now. Some of the other - maybe luckier - kids my age were as blissfully unaware of the world around them as a pair of baby sparrows, but I wasn't one of them. I guess that was why I didn't feel satisfied playing with the other kids as much anymore; it just felt pointless. Sooner or later, I was going to have to grow up, so where was the harm in starting early? At least I was actually helping out the country that I called my home; I was only returning back the favour that Panem had given me. Really, it was what I was expected to do. I mean, the Capitol wouldn't hurt me if I played by their rules and did what they wanted me to, would they? What would they get out of it?

Tip-toeing up the stairs, I cautiously open the door, hoping that my father's eyes weren't transfixed on something only he could see. Thankfully, my father's thoughts seemed to be elsewhere as I watched him carefully decide which of the two jumpers he had set out on the bed he should wear for the Reaping, still seemingly unaware of my presence. That was hardly a new phenomenon though; my father never seemed to notice very much these days.

"I'm back," I murmur quietly, not wanting to shock him with my arrival. Cautiously, I step further into his room, feeling slightly awkward. Even though I never said anything, I always felt a little bit awkward around my father ever since my mother had died. It was obvious that he had changed since then and to be honest, I wasn't really sure how to react around him sometimes.

Somehow, the whisper that I had used to talk to him managed to startle him somewhat, but he walks over to me and gives me a fierce hug. For a second, I can forget the harsh conditions of District Twelve and the Reaping that was coming up soon and take comfort in the warmth that my father could give me. It made me feel like I didn't have to worry for myself, that I didn't need to grow up or be independent and that I could truly relax.

It doesn't last long though, as he pushes himself away from me and puts his hands on my shoulders, "You know I love you, don't you Dani?"

I nod solemnly. My father said those words everyday, just in case anything bad ever happened to me. It was another habit that had started up a few years ago. He hadn't gotten the chance to say goodbye to my mother, and he seemed determined to not make the same mistake with me. It was perfectly understandable, "Sure, I love you too, Daddy."

My father sighs with relief as he continues to hold me gently, "I'm glad you do," he replies slowly, as if he thought his own voice would fail him, "I can't imagine what my life would be like without you."

I smile as I affectionately ruffle his hair, sticking out my tongue when he pulls away and attempts to look sternly at me. This makes me giggle slightly and I'm smiling as I respond, "Well, don't you worry, Daddy. I'm staying around for a while yet, and I'm never going away."

* * *

_**Cinder Mell, 15**_

_**District Twelve,**_

The flickering of the flame is the only thing that pierces the darkness around me, barely lighting up the coal mine that I'm currently in. All around me, the darkness lurks, hiding the spirits of those that had succumbed to death. The thought makes a smile curve up my lips; an action that was rare for me to perform. Well, it was rare that anybody living saw me smile, or indeed, saw me make any sort of facial expression. Down here, I was perfectly entitled to be myself, and I didn't need to worry about the odd looks and nervous sniggers that everybody liked to give me when I was out of the darkness. Not that the opinions of others meant anything to me, but it did get rather irritating when you had to deal with the contempt that they showed me every day. Really, it was so much more convenient to stay out of everybody's way.

My eyes could barely see the hastily-made fuse that was tied to the crevices of the mines, snaking in and out of the dark corners that even the match I held couldn't illuminate. Not that it would matter for much longer, since there wouldn't be anything of value to anybody else by the time I was done. No, this entire place would be considered useless to everybody aside from the deceased that will lose their lives thanks to me.

Why did people even insist that every life had some value to it? Exploring the boundaries between life and death was so much more fascinating, so much more complex and intriguing than the mundane activities one was forced to do when alive. Every single day, you had to eat, work and suffer from how incredibly _dull_ life was here. And when you gave in to the night, you eventually woke up and go though the same old routine again and again. Really, there was nothing interesting about the lives that the people here lived, although it wasn't as if I really paid that much attention to my fellow residents of District Twelve anyway. Whatever they did was none of my concern, although my actions had apparently made them wary of me.

Sure, they didn't have much evidence that the recent sabotage of the mines was thanks to me, but the fact that 'accidents' kept happening when I was around had led some people to become very suspicious of what I was capable of. It was only a matter of time before they put the pieces together and figured out the true extent of my actions, but that time wasn't now, if the careless attitudes of the people below were any indicator of how much they were worried about me. And there wasn't any point in wasting time worrying about something that _might _happen, especially when you could concentrate on what was about to occur instead.

The best thing was, nobody was even aware of what I was planning to do right now. Down below me, the other miners continued to work, completely oblivious to me being here. Earlier, there had been a young girl skipping around, handing out rations to the starved workers with a smile on her face. It wasn't as if I knew that girl, but her positive attitude in a population of dreary, miserable people had stood out to me. Shame that she was gone now; her ghost would have definitely been interesting to see.

Oh well; there were plenty of other opportunities to get her later, since she seemed to 'help out' at these mines on a regular basis. Although it wasn't as if a small girl like her could do much; she looked far too weak to pull the mine carts along and unload the coal they contained, ready for the Capitol to use. It was funny how the Capitol - the all-too-confusing, garish Capitol - were dependent on something so unassuming and dark in order to keep functioning, although I doubted anybody else had realised this. Not that it mattered; the point was that those exports would never reach their destination, not if I had anything to say about it.

Carefully, I trail the unlit fuse along, making sure that it didn't hang down from the shaft that I was perched on and give away my presence to the others. That would defeat the whole purpose of me being here, after all, and being caught would only delay me being able to see _them _again. Well, if I wasn't executed, anyway. Even the unobservant, weirdly lenient Peacekeepers here would consider my 'crimes' worthy of a firing squad, and that was definitely not how I wanted to leave this world.

Jumping down, I obscure the fuse a bit with some of the omnipresent coal dust before retreating into the daylight, squinting slightly as the sunlight hits me. I hated the daylight; you could see everything when it was around. The stunted, dull figures of the miners that worked here, the dead grass choked by the coal dust that the mines spewed out, the harsh glare of the sun beating down on me. You could see everything except _them_, and that irritated me. It was like they disappeared while the sun was up, like they were damaged by the penetrating rays of light that resembled them so much. And what they didn't like, I had to hate as well. I just _had_ to, otherwise there was no way that I would be able to stay sane on this planet.

I light the fuse, making sure that it had caught alight before I sprint out of the mine shaft that had been rigged to explode soon enough. Well, maybe explode was the wrong word choice - that would imply that explosives and bombs were easy to find here, and they certainly weren't. However, I had managed to steal enough from the Capitol so that I could set up some of the loose parts of coal to 'accidentally' collapse and cause a landslide to destroy the coal mine, which effectively rendered that mine to be useless until the debris had been cleared. That was hardly why I did it though; how the Capitol were affected by having less coal than they usually did mattered very little to me, and I wasn't bothered about making a stand against the Capitol by being 'rebellious' or whatever. The point was that the people working there would be caught in the avalanche of stone that would crush them like the insignificant things that they were, and they would have no chance of surviving.

Around ten seconds after I lit up the fuse, there's a muffled boom that signals the disturbance, and shortly afterwards, I can see the mine shaft that I had been in just moments ago start to cave in as the explosion caused the loose sections of the coal mine to break free and fall. Like a house of cards, the mine seems to collapse from the inside, smoke covering the carnage that I had created and dissipating into the air. Even from here, you could hear the sounds of alarm that my victims were making, their fear almost palpable compared to the monotonous atmosphere that smothered this district like the smoke was now. If I closed my eyes, I could imagine the frantic movements that they would be making as they tried in vain to get out of my death trap, the expressions of fear that would be so clear on their facial expressions as the reality of their situation sunk in.

Naturally, it would be useless even trying to escape from there, even if they did have enough time to reflect on the fact that they would die soon. If I said that they would die, then that was what would happen, and nothing was going to get in my way. They needed to die so that I could see the transition from life to death for myself. The concept - whilst being foreign to others - had always fascinated me, but there wasn't anything that attracted the spirits to me though. Not unless I killed those that still lived - like I was doing now - and if I didn't stop dawdling and hurry up, then I would have wasted an opportunity to see them first-hand. It wasn't as if I could just destroy the mines around here on a daily basis; it takes weeks to plan these things and standing by idly and letting the spirits escape over to the Other Side without even trying to see them was just unthinkable.

It was easy for me to sneak back up to the volatile mine without anybody spotting me; the smoke was thick enough up here that it screened me from the sunlight and the eyes of any bystanders that may have witnessed this little 'accident' of mine. Sure, it meant that I couldn't see anybody unless they were a few feet away, but I was working on the presumption that anybody nearby would be concentrated on trying to put out the resulting flames of the explosion and retrieve the (hopefully) dying bodies from the destruction that I had caused. They wouldn't be trying to find out who did this at this time, if they even suspected that someone had done this at all. Whatever evidence that I had left when setting up the whole thing would have probably been blown sky-high; they would never have enough pieces to know for certain that it was me, regardless of whatever suspicions they may have about me. Even the unreasonable people here weren't petty enough to detain and severely punish or execute me just because they _thought_ that I was responsible for something. If the authorities were that harsh that to everybody who broke the law, then there wouldn't be enough people with the necessary strength to mine the coal that the Capitol needed so much. And Panem knows that you couldn't have _that_ happening.

Carefully, I step over the debris that was still burning, looking for a flash of pale skin or the slight glinting of eyes that alerted me to a presence of someone that was dying. It doesn't take me long to find someone; the sporadic twitching of an arm appearing from under an unrecognisable pile of charred material. Squinting my eyes, I move closer, trying to see though the hazy atmosphere that the smoke had created. No, my eyes were not playing tricks on me - there was a person still trapped underneath the wreckage, although it was impossible to see how badly injured they were or even if they were a male or female. Smiling slightly, I pick up the nearest stone that looked fairly safe to pick up before I strolled over casually. On closer observation, there seemed to be two large stones that had collided together to entrap the person in its grip, as if the ghosts had heard my unsaid pleas and captured someone just for me. Fate must have wanted this to happen; it was all too easy for me to get away with what I was planning to do for it to be disapproved by the dead.

A pair of eyes, startlingly blue in the vague grey world that had been unleashed here, suddenly open, probably having heard my footsteps and presuming that I was here to help them. Well I was, in a sense, but it certainly wouldn't be in the way that this person was expecting me to.

"Is so-somebody t-there?" They manage to rasp out, their hoarse words hard to make out due to the coughs they punctuated every other word with, "C-can you help me?"

I don't bother replying to their weak pleas, preferring to try and find a way of getting the debris off the body. It didn't look to be a particularly difficult job for someone like me; helping my father out with some of the simpler tasks in the mines for five or so years did have its advantages, mainly strength. Mind you, I didn't go down into the mines because I wanted to be 'kind' and help out others; it was nice and dark down there, and that was what I thrived on. Any advantages that I received from doing that would only help me carry out the tasks that I wanted to fulfill. It barely takes any time to shove the coal off the injured person, especially since I was paying no heed to their gasps. Doing things was so much easier when you didn't have to worry about the well-being of others.

"Th-thank yo-you." The person whispers when I've removed enough to reach the body - which clearly belongs to a man from here - clearly. Instantly, I can tell that this person won't last much longer. Most of their hair has been scorched off - most likely because of the fires - and they had severe burn marks that had burned away at the skin around their stomach and their arms. At some points, there was even the occasional flash of white where the fire had devoured away at them down to the bone. The cuts they had acquired were bleeding, but not as much as they should be doing; they would probably bleed to death soon enough. And this person thought that I could save them? My smile only grows wider at the thought, which wipes the gratitude off the miner's face as they realise that my intentions were anything but pure.

"I wouldn't be so sure about that just yet." I reply conversationally, or as conversationally as I could manage, anyway. My voice was usually flat and croaky due to me not using it much; speaking to others was not something that I did much, "Your soul doesn't like it here."

"Wh-what?"

Taking their confusion as a cue, I continue to mumble what I could feel coming from the man's dying vessel, "He finds it so boring here; I'm surprised you don't either. And he wants to go now. You should probably comply."

They continue to look puzzled for a few seconds until his eyes narrow slightly and recognition sets in. Clearly, I was known enough around here that even this expendable man could tell who I was just from a few meaningless words. However, he doesn't bother confirming my thoughts, preferring to appeal to my generosity and good nature instead.

"Pl-please don't k-kill me," he stutters out, bright blue eyes becoming more glassy as tears welled up inside them, "It h-hurts so m-much. Save me instead, _please_."

Their begging just washes over me like the rain sometimes does when such a thing happened in District Twelve as I lift up the rock that I had found earlier and wave it in front of them so that they could see it, "Don't you worry," I say flatly, "Everything will be just fine. I'm only giving your spirit closure."

Now the tears were making themselves known as they ran down the man's cheeks, washing away some of the coal dust that covered his skin more tightly than the baggy overalls he wore. He opens his mouth to speak, but I don't give him the chance before I slam the rock down on his head. He's so far gone now that he doesn't even have the energy to fight back or do anything aside from whimper pathetically. I prepare to use it again, but the sound of another explosion startles me. Glancing up, I can see the remnants of the second explosion that I heard dislodge the makeshift wooden poles that had been the only thing keeping that part of the coal mine steady. Even though the thick blanket of smoke and ash, I could see the avalanche of black that was slowly tumbling down the hill, bringing with it more death. The though makes me smile. Surely I wouldn't need to do anything else for a while now to sate the dead spirits that had chosen me. Achieving destruction on such a wide scale was something that I could happily take pride in.

I can see thin grey tendrils wrapping themselves around me; most likely the spirit that I had just granted entry to the Other Side to. Of course it would be pleased; I had just given it what it desired most, and it would protect me as a result. Why would I even need to worry about the consequences that might result from this action? The spirits would never allow anything to happen to me, would they? I was one of the few people here that willingly balanced out the equation of life and death for them; they wouldn't let anything hurt me, right?

They _needed_ me.

...

"Dandelion Wildflee."

The announcement of this death sentence almost flies over me, absorbed as I was in the plume of smoke that marked the horizon as it spread upwards towards the clouds. While some of the more observant were frowning at the space where the mine had once been, I was smiling, smug in the knowledge that the smoke was the only visible sign that the dead were passing over to where they were supposed to go.

The name of the girl doesn't ring a bell with me, although it appears that the same didn't apply to the people around me. The whispers that spring up when you heard the girl's name being called seemed to be numerous - some surprised and a few gleeful - although there was one query that stood out above the rest.

"Why was _she_ picked?"

I find myself asking the same thing when the girl makes herself apparent by falling to her knees with a thud. As the crowd backs away from her cautiously, shooting her pitiful glances, I can see that she's crying. Well, crying would be an understatement; this girl's body was so wracked by sobs that she didn't even look capable of moving herself to the stage if she tried as she knelt on the ground. Strands of her dirty brown hair were sticking to her cheeks due to her tears, which wasn't helped by the sudden screaming of another, older person that felt it necessary to call out her name in an anguished voice. I scowl in irritation at this; the sound was enough to give me a headache, and it was so unnecessary.

Eventually, two Peacekeepers decide to intervene and drag the girl over to the stage, allowing me to get a clearer view of the doomed thing. Her grey eyes - something that was common among the lower classes of the Seam - didn't stand out much against her dirty, typically disheveled appearance and they were overflowing with tears that she made no effort to hide. The fact that she was twelve only made the fact that she would die in the bloodbath even more obvious. Little children like her never survived.

Our escort, a formal, well-mannered woman that went by the name of Felicity, just shakes her golden curls sadly before walking over to the bowl that contained the name of the male, "And for our lucky male tribute, you have Cinder Mell. Why don't you step right up?"

She punctuates her words with a grin that I think was meant to look reassuring as her eyes scan the crowd for me. However, I'm already pushing my way though the crowd of sheep that were aimlessly standing around, doing nothing but blocking my way to the stage. I wasn't really thinking about the implications attached to the thought of being Reaped, about the fact that I could die there. After all, it was obvious that the spirits had somehow influenced the decisions of the ones around me so that this would happen. The Hunger Games were the perfect opportunity to revel in the darkness and the death that I liked so much, and to top it all off, it was perfectly legal. Not like that would have stopped me from doing what I wanted anyway, but while I was in the Games, I wouldn't be punished for whatever I managed to do in the arena. On the contrary, it would be encouraged and I would be rewarded greatly - both by the Capitol and the spirits - if I managed to take the life of anybody there.

I would be just fine in the Games. After all, I had the dead on my side.

* * *

**Obviously, it's been a while since I've updated, but (rest assured) I'm not quitting this story; I've just been extremely busy with a bunch of exams that make up part of my final grades and such for the past few weeks. Now that I've completed the majority of them, I'll have a lot more time for writing :) In fact, the next chapter should be up sometime next week at the most, so keep an eye out for that.**


	11. Every Man For Himself - District 9

Quell it with Fire

The First Quarter Quell

District Nine Reapings

**_River Callero, 17_**

**_District Nine,_**

_I'm all alone when I see them._

_It's surprising that I even noticed the scraggly group of misfits, so caught up was I in the hunger that gnawed away at me like a disease. My hands were clutched over my stomach, as if that could possibly contain the empty feeling that I felt there, and my legs were shaking. I felt so unsteady that I didn't even want to take another step forward, fearing that I would trip over the rough ground and never get up again. It was a common fate around here, simply collapsing from starvation because you didn't have enough to eat, and I knew deep down that unless I somehow stumbled across a few scraps of bread or some other opportunity to get food, I would end up the same way. Frazzled brown hair gathering the reddish dirt that the wind swept across the path, ribs protruding through the shapeless brown sack that passed as a dress, frail body slowly being buried by the ground until the Peacekeepers were called to dump me in the nearest mass grave that they called a 'graveyard'._

_It really didn't strike me as the way I wanted to die, especially not now. I was too young to die, wasn't I? I was only twelve; surely _someone_ would do something to help me, right?_

_Even to myself, I knew that the silent pleas I kept to myself were unlikely to be answered. I was old enough to die horribly in the Games now, and being twelve hadn't stopped the girl from District Seven from going insane and repeatedly stabbing the twelve year old boy from District Twelve during the Sixteenth Hunger Games. There had been nothing stopping that girl then, and nothing was going to stop me dying now. The memory of watching the District Twelve boy struggle as he had slowly been coated in red saps what feels like the last reserve of strength in me, and I end up on my knees, staring numbly at the parched ground beneath me.  
_

_I'm going to die here, I think to myself. I'm going to _die_ here. My family won't be here to comfort me, none of my friends would whisper soothing words to me or mourn my loss as I died peacefully. No, none of that would apply here. I was in the middle of nowhere and it seemed that I would die alone, with nobody even noticing my departure from this world, let alone caring for my death. If I had any moisture left in my body, tears would have been stinging my eyes at the thought of it. However, my senses were still working enough that I could hear the muffled sound of shuffling feet against the dirt. Slowly lifting my head up, I can just about make out the skinny, hunched-over figures that were being led by a man. The sand that was being whipped around didn't help make my vision of them any better, but I could tell that they were headed in my direction. Maybe they might be able to help me?  
_

_Once I get a better look at them though, I don't bother trying to make myself known to them. In fact, I try and flatten myself against the stone, realising that these people had just provided me with the ticket to more money and consequently, more food. Now that they were closer, I realised that the people following the mysterious guy happened to have the same blue eyes and light-coloured hair as another family in District Nine. Those features - features that were so rare among the majority of the dark-skinned, brown eyed population here - alerted me to who this family were. Recently, there had been pictures stamped on the sides of the ramshackle houses here of a renegade rebel with his smiling, cheery family, with the words WANTED stamped in faded black ink underneath. Those pictures matched almost perfectly with the family that were shuffling past me now, except that they looked far more desperate and tired than they had done when I had seen them second-hand with the posters._

_It was very clear to me what I had to do in order to survive now, and that was to turn them in. Surely turning in these criminals that were so against the Capitol - the people that ran Panem - would end up well for me. The authorities would surely be willing to encourage anybody that helped keep the rebels' activities to a minimum, and that would help me, right? That was what really mattered most; my survival. I had to do this in order to keep myself alive, even if I didn't really care about wherever these rebels escaped or not. They didn't matter, they couldn't matter to me when I inform the Peacekeepers about them. My life had to come first here, and it wasn't as if I had another choice at the moment._

_All I had to do was get up and tell the Capitol what I had seen. And that was what I did._

"River, River, River," A familiar voice disrupts my memory of what I used to do to earn enough money for this household, of the days when I had been a weak, trembling, _feeling_ little girl just like Myra was being now, "River, River, River."

"Oh, shut up," I mutter irritably. I don't even have to open my eyes to see who's standing over me. Who else could be as much of a pain to me except for Myra, my annoying sister? It was her fault that we were this poor in the first place, and she didn't even bother trying to validate her existence, "I heard you the first dozen times."

Myra practically jumps backwards away from me, her eyes wide as she looks at me with, seemingly startled by my blunt words. I don't know how she was expecting me to act; it wasn't as if I was ever pleasant or cheery around her, so it was beyond me why she expected me to act as such. And why she was consistently disappointed when it didn't happen, "You've overslept," she manages to get out in a whisper.

"That's all you came in for?" I deadpan, although I'm already moving to find the usual clothes that I wear for the Reaping; a beige coloured top with dark brown trousers and worn boots. An outfit that was all but rare here among the lower classes when you had the grain fields and the large expanses of hunting land that made up District Nine.

She doesn't look directly at me as she responds, too busy playing with her hands, "Well, I'm not really sure what time we have to go out at, and Daddy won't tell me anything. I'm sorry, I don't know what I'm doing; it's my first Reaping." At this, she looks up at me, expecting me to feel sympathy for her because she actually had a chance of being Reaped and she was making puppy-dog eyes at me. I do feel a slight twang of pity for her - she would be completely destroyed by the harsh nature of the Games - but I quickly suppress it.

What was the point in caring for what happened to Myra? It wasn't as if simply wanting something got you anywhere; you had to actually _do_ something in order to succeed. Compassion hadn't helped bring my mother back from her grave when she had given birth to Myra. Grief over my mother's death hadn't stopped my 'father' from wasting all our money - the money that _I_ had worked so hard to earn - on drink. Actually, I was certain that it had been the sadness that he had felt that had drove him into being the useless moron that he was today. Just in general, feeling anything towards anyone was a mistake. I didn't have the time to waste caring about those around me. Here, the simplest mistake could lead to your death, and caring about those weaker and less capable than you was setting yourself up for disaster. To me, survival was far more important than having a reputation for being 'generous' and 'kind'; things that I wasn't well-known for anyway.

"Oh, boo hoo for you," I roll my eyes, "You're not the only one who has to attend the Reapings, so don't even bother trying to bitch about it."

This was just another thing that I found ridiculous; how people feared or revered the Games depending on their district. People were so obsessed with the Hunger Games, even though they had only existed for twenty five years. Why anybody would waste their entire life training for this insignificant event was beyond me; you were essentially training to die in the Games. Not that I really cared about the so-called Careers though or the Games; would me hating them lead to the Games being stopped? Would me cursing the Capitol and wishing that they would be overthrown actually make any difference? Of course it wouldn't, so where's the point in even bothering to think about the Games? It wasn't as if my thoughts would somehow lead to them stopping; they'd still continue as the Capitol had planned, and that was fine by me. Just as long as I was fine, then everything was alright with me.

Myra continues to look like a kicked mongrel for a few seconds before realisation lights up her features, quickly replaced by alarm, "Wait! River! It might be you who gets Reaped today!" She had always been brilliant with her words and observations.

I punctuate her words with a round of clapping to congratulate her on her astounding realisation, "Oh, really?" I mock Myra's gasps from earlier, "I didn't know that. Gosh, I really wouldn't know what I'd do without you telling me this."

She frowns slightly, but doesn't try to retaliate to my sarcasm, "No, I mean that people are more likely to pick you out of everybody," she outstretches her arms and spins around the room to indicate 'everybody', messing up her dark brown curls in the process.

If Myra was waiting for me to jump around in fear and scream that it could not be so, then she was going to be very disappointed. Ever since I had been found out as an 'informer' for the Capitol, what little respect and pity I had gained from my mother dying went down the drain. District Nine was not a district that supported the Capitol in any way that they could help and clearly did not take well to me defying this stereotype and actively helping the dictators that ran this country, "You're just on fire today, Myra. Why don't you continue to shock me with your revelations _outside_?" I make a shooing motion with my free hand, "And allow me to actually get ready in the meantime?"

She complies, scampering away on her gangly legs as I hastily shove my clothes over the top of the worn, frayed clothes that I could barely afford to use as pajamas. If Myra had actually managed to gather the courage to enter my room and actually try and talk to me, then that must mean that I was running late, and I doubted that once being an informer for the Peacekeepers would help much if they decided to imprison me. Considering the fact that the majority of the money I had saved away from my greedy father came from the Peacekeepers, it meant that I had nothing to bribe them with if I wanted any special 'favours' from the authorities here. Really though, the only favour that they could do to me was get rid of my father. He hadn't even tried to stay strong for his two daughters when my mother had died, choosing to fall into the clutches of drink and leaving me feeling like I had lost both my parents. My father was just a burden that paid no attention to the measures I resorted to in order to have some food on the table and immediately went over to the nearest place that sold bottles of cheap alcohol to drown away his days in. He didn't even acknowledge the fact that he would never have survived for so long if it hadn't been for me.

I didn't care though, I simply _refused_ to waste any sympathy on the man that had stood by and done nothing while me and Myra slowly starved. Even if he died, I didn't think that I would really care. He was just another obstacle that prevented my life from being as good as it could be; I was almost old enough to live on my own legally, and I couldn't wait for the day that I would no longer be the slightest bit responsible for him. As long as I stayed out of trouble with those in charge, then I would be fine, and that was really all that mattered.

...

"Oh, look what the cat dragged in."

"Isn't she that traitor that ratted out Hayden to the Peacekeepers?"

"Annalee! Stay away from that girl! She means nothing but trouble for you!"

"I really hope she gets chosen today. She's someone that actually deserves it."

Like rain dripping off my skin, I allow everybody's petty comments to wash over me as I wait to get my blood sample taken. There was no point in dwelling on or worrying about what people thought of you. The opinions of others were so easy to change and manipulate, so why even bother trying to make friends with others, to make them see the 'good' inside of you? Chances are that they'd have a different opinion of you by the end of the week, and I had no use for something that you could gain and lose so easily. I suppose my attitude contrasted with some of the more manipulative and sly people around, people who felt it important to be deceptive about themselves in order to gain favour with others, but I had never seen the point in extending that much effort to please and be deceitful to others. They did say that trying to avoid telling the truth meant you had to clean up the consequences later, and telling the truth was so much more effective than resorting to lies. Everything would be so much simpler if you were honest.

Oh well, it wasn't my problem if everybody else found it necessary to screw things up even more than they had to. It didn't affect me, so I wasn't bothered.

The Peacekeeper clearly knows me - or has at least heard of the number of rebels that I've turned in - as an empty smile curves up her lips briefly before reverting back to a thin line, "Hand, please."

I raise my eyebrows slightly at the unusually polite way that she asks for my hand; most Peacekeepers usually just snatched the child's hand and stab the needle though it regardless of if they had permission or not. This small action doesn't go unnoticed by the crowds around me, and as I nod my assent, I catch a few steely-eyed glares sent my way. I roll my eyes; were they really so pathetic that they actually had to go out of their way to shove themselves into me or to whisper spitefully to the person next to them until they realised I could pick up on the words they said? Honestly, the whole bunch of them were so melodramatic about expressing their hatred towards me.

The wavering sound of static plus a very annoying tapping sound draws my attention to the escort that has arrived from the Capitol. For an escort, she is dressed quite normally, with raven feathers seemingly attached to her earlobes and peacock feathers sticking out of the bun her hair is arranged in, as if she had mistaken District Nine for the livestock district. She is weighed down significantly by the gaudy gold necklaces that she wears and they jingle against each other as she smiles, glad that tapping on the microphone has drawn everybody's attention to her.

"Welcome everybody to another fabulous year of the Hunger Games. I just love the scenery here!" She gushes, practically jumping up and down and making her heavy-looking necklaces bang against her chest while everybody else remains silent. Undeterred by the lack of response, she waves her hands around randomly as she almost leaps over to the glass bowl, "Anyway, lets see who District Nine's next potential victor will be!"

Inwardly, I exhale, glad that the escort hadn't decided to waste time chirping about all the previous Games where District Nine had done well as she had done last year, which was a relief. I was pretty sure that everybody could remember the male tribute from our district who had ended up being the third-to-last to die last year, and the fact that he had managed to kill the District Four Career he had attacked in the process was a feat that was all but common here. In any case, I was glad that the escort hadn't bothered to elaborate more on this, since it wasn't something that really needed to be thought about anymore. None of last year's tributes came back, and that was all that needed to be said on it. End of story.

While I was distracted by last year's Games, the escort feels it necessary to talk about the name on the slip - as if having to wait to find out if it's you wasn't bad enough, "What a lovely name you've chosen, District Nine. A far better improvement from last year, I'm sure you'll agree, even if it is District Four-ish," The escort manages to pick up on the hostile looks that were being sent her way for dithering with the announcement and decides to stop, "Ahem, anyway District Nine, your new female tribute will be River Callero!"

Oh, alright then. It appears that Myra was correct then, although the warm welcome I had received when everybody knew that I was responsible for dooming countless rebels had clued me in on this a while ago. I very sincerely doubted that I had been chosen because I was an amazing fighter who could use every weapon and was the fastest runner in the universe and had trained for the Games, anything but. District Nine didn't want me to come home, but that didn't mean that I was going to try to live up to their expectations.

I can sense that I'm now on camera, and forcibly make myself look stoic as I walk up to the stage, keeping my eyes firmly fixed on the escort who tries to smile comfortingly at me. Deep inside though, I feel confusion. What should I really be doing? How should I actually be reacting to this? What was I going to do when I actually entered the Games? My thoughts only become more confused when I reach the stage and accidentally make eye contact with Myra, who looks stunned at the fact that her older sister was standing on this stage. From here, I could just about make out the glinting of tears streaking down her face as she stared at me. It was clear that she wasn't ready to see me killed on television a few days from now. To be honest, I wasn't ready to die yet either.

* * *

_**Lynx, 18**_

_**District Nine,**_

"Lynx."

You can hear the initial confusion as the other citizens surrounding me whisper to each other, wondering why on Earth I didn't have a last name on my slip. Eyes were darting around, trying to figure out where I was, looking for a terrified face that couldn't comprehend the possibility of their name being called out at the Reaping. It was, after all, the usual reaction that District Nine tributes had when they realised that they were going into the Hunger Games, that they only had a few more days left until they died of their own stupidity. Statistically speaking, only two people had ever managed to make it home once their name had been announced; District Nine usually tended to die in the bloodbath. It was hardly a surprise, since most of District Nine were weak and hopeless.

However, I was not one of those people, and I was smart enough to not even be surprised that I had been picked. You couldn't be taken off-guard by anything if you were expecting it, and I always expected the worst. Life was much better when you weren't constantly disappointed by having unreasonably high hopes of everything. It wasn't as if there was much point to existing anyway, so why bother looking on the 'bright' side of life?

Instead, I was just standing there, feeling a vague sense of amusement as everybody looked around, relieved at the fact that they were 'safe' from the prospect of death. Why were they so surprised at this? District Nine wouldn't want to send in helpless, useless tributes to the Games just to die; they wanted a victor as well. I was a fairly obvious choice for being entered, as I possessed enough skill to survive in a harsh environment such as the ones used in the Games. Three or so years of living on your own helped out a lot when it came to being independent. I was sure that it was common knowledge that I spent nearly all of my time outdoors, which was hardly a picnic unless you knew what you were doing. District Nine wasn't exactly what you'd call 'mild' environment-wise.

After a few moments of nobody offering themselves, I exaggerate looking around in order to mimic the other, less observant people around me before pushing one of the kids out of the way as I make myself known. Logically speaking, the others should have spotted me a lot sooner than they did without any of my help. I literally stood head-and-shoulders above most of the other eighteen year old boys; it wasn't difficult to single me out from a crowd. However, that worked on the presumption that the District Nine citizens actually possessed that little thing called intelligence. As I had found from personal experience, they didn't usually have the brains to figure that much out though.

I had a fairly uneventful stroll up to the stage. There were no family members melodramatically screeching for someone to volunteer for me - as if anybody would here - and there certainly wasn't any dispute with the self-proclaimed Peacekeepers that were stationed around the age sections. It wasn't as if I was stupid enough to try and run away from here either; I knew full well just how futile that would be.

The escort motions for me and my new district partner - a stone-faced girl who went by the name of River - to shake hands, but neither of us bother to follow this instruction, preferring to ignore each other and walk straight down the steps into the Justice Building. I haven't even said one word to her, but it was doubtful that we were going to get along. She was probably just as hostile towards my status in society as everybody else here seemed to be, courtesy of my charming mother. River was probably not that intelligent either, since she seemed like the rest of the clueless morons that lived in District Nine, meaning she would be just as judgmental as the others thanks to my family.

I didn't tend to think about my mother or the rest of my family that often. It wasn't that they were dead or that I was an orphan or anything like that; I just considered the whole lot of them to be irrelevant. Why should I waste my time reminiscing on the fifteen or so years that I had to put up with them until I had finally decided to do something about the situation? From the few memories that I still had of my family, they were all overly arrogant and confident in themselves thanks to my dearest mother and the wealth she had given to them. It was so ridiculous - the way that the Capitol reacted to her presence was so flamboyant and so close to borderline worshipping her - that it was almost enough to make me laugh. Almost, because the notion of respecting her was so strange to me that I could barely comprehend why she was considered important enough to warrant such a reaction from anybody. However, the Capitol seemed to think that killing off four weak, defenseless children was commendable.

I thought otherwise; people should not be respected and honoured _purely_ because they had killed. I had lost track of the number of animals I had killed when I hunted for my next meal, but you didn't see me banging my chest and demanding a nice big house and money, did you now? There was no point in demanding excessive rewards for what you did, and I didn't expect any recognition for whatever I could do. Okay, so I can use a slingshot and a bow for taking down animals, but I didn't care if anybody else found that admirable. I only used those skills because I had to survive, that was all.

What was even the difference between shooting an animal and a person anyway? Just because I was part of the human race didn't mean that it would be any more difficult to kill them. Nobody else seemed to think or see beyond the petty stereotypes and images that humans had made up to label others with, so why should I bother trying to be nice to others?

...

I'm stunned into silence by what lies behind the door that the Peacekeeper opens for me. The interior of the Justice Building is a mixture of royal reds and mahogany browns, all polished and dusted to perfection. The carpet - which was a tasteful burgundy colour - combined with the spotless desks and the plush, cream-coloured couches all came together to make a room that was appealing and showed how wealthy the mayor's family here was compared to the rest of the district. Neatly placed around the room were burnished gold ornaments and even an old grandfather clock. That was certainly a small luxury that many people - me included - could not afford, although anybody with an ounce of common sense could roughly judge the time by using the sun's position in the sky, yes? There were also people here, calmly discussing work with smiles on their faces as they hurry to and fro in neatly-cut clothes, barely giving me and River cursory glances before returning to their own worlds, like every human did eventually.

Everything here seemed so perfect, or at least, that was what people were supposed to think, anyway. To me, this entire building was ridiculous, plain and simple. All the decor in the world couldn't hide what really went on here, even if it did fool the other fools that lived in this district. It was as overrated as the attention and the money that a 'victor' received when they had finished slaughtering their fair share of children in the Games. Don't get me wrong though; I wasn't one of the idealistic daydreamers in District Nine that thought that the Games should be stopped or whatever. In fact, I find them to be an excellent way of showing the districts why the Capitol would always win. You were taking their own children and killing them right in front of them, and they were forced to celebrate it. The only thing is that having a victor to begin with was stupid, simple as. Why bother making this big fanfare out of it when you could just destroy all twenty four tributes and be done with it? It still got the point across that the Capitol was in charge and it cost far less to simply shove everybody together with weapons to kill each other with. Life would be a lot simpler to deal with now if you knew that you were going to die no matter what, but no, the Capitol - like all of humanity - had to brag about their power even more than was necessary and liked to parade around their little 'victors' like they had actually done something important. It was all so exaggerated.

Speaking of the Games, had District Nine voted me in because they thought that I would be like my mother and win the Games as she had done? That because I hadn't shown my face since I had run away meant that I must have prepared myself for going into the Games?

If that was the case, they were truly deluded; me being related to one of District Nine's two victors didn't automatically make me the most capable. Anybody who thought so clearly couldn't be bothered to see beyond their initial impressions of people, and therefore were not worth my time. And did they really think that I adored this district so much that I would accept my fate with smiles and charm? If my life wasn't on the line, then I would have considered stepping off my plate at the bloodbath to spite them. Admittedly, I wasn't particularly bothered about the possibility of dying - I _couldn't_ be; that would make me as petty as the rest of District Nine - but I wasn't done with life yet. At least I wasn't spending the remainder of my days in the hell-hole known as my district.

If there was one good thing about being chosen to participate this year, it was the fact that I would _finally_ have a legitimate reason for leaving District Nine. It had always been something that I wanted to do, but I had no way of escaping before this had happened. There was even a faint possibility that I might have been somewhat pleased with the outcome of this situation if it hadn't been for the fact that I had no choice in where I was going. I had no opinion of the Capitol itself before I had been Reaped and it would most likely remain this way until I had seen the city for myself. Why would I base my views on what other people in my district thought? Unlike others, I would wait until I had seen the Capitol in person before making a judgement. Some people thought that all of the Capitol were shallow and idiotic, but they seemed to forget that they were talking about the people that had somehow subjugated a population that exceeded the people living in their city. That was not a feat achievable by using pure brute strength and numbers, and you would have to be extremely simple-minded to think otherwise.

I am led into a small room by the same Peacekeeper that seems to be treating me with a similar level of respect that my mother receives on a daily basis. They hadn't done anything that suggested they thought I was inferior to them, unlike the majority of the Peacekeepers who did anything but "keep the peace" around here. They even bowed slightly in respect before closing the door behind me, leaving me with nothing but the furniture for company. I wasn't even sure why I was wasting my time in the Justice Building anyway; it wasn't as if I had any friends to speak of that would visit me, and last time I had seen my family, they had been too busy caught up in their own petty lives to notice me running away from them. They had never cared too much for me anyway and since I had chosen to leave them of my own free will, I didn't think that they would be jumping at the chance to have a heartfelt, loving reunion before I went off to the Capitol. On the contrary, they were probably still harbouring a grudge against me for turning my back on the lavish lifestyle that they still lived in thanks to _her_. She would most definitely not be impressed by my actions; it ruined her 'perfect' image after all, if her killing children hadn't done so already.

Surprisingly though, I'm only on my own for a few minutes - having just made myself comfortable on the couch that was situated under the only window in here - before the door opens. However, the tall, imposing figure standing in the doorway destroys any possibility of me having a tearful goodbye with someone before leaving, although the chances of that happening anyway were non-existent.

My mother hadn't changed much since the last time I had seen her. Her hair was still pulled up tightly into a high ponytail and her dark blue eyes looked down coldly at me. Although she was in her forties, she still looked quite youthful. Well, she might have done if her mouth hadn't been pressed into a thin line and her eyes weren't glaring at me.

"You're pathetic," she informs me, not even bothering with a courteous greeting, "Really, it was only a matter of time before you ended up in a situation like this. It's not as if you stand a chance on your own without us backing you."

She pauses, waiting for my temper to flare up and be baited by her harsh words. If she was really expecting me to be hurt by her words, then she would be waiting a long time. It wasn't as if I had been expecting anything better from my mother; people like her revelled in the misery of others and I wasn't interested in giving her the satisfaction. Her words meant nothing to me, so why bother encouraging her?

Oblivious to my thoughts, she takes this as her cue to continue, "I feel so sorry for you as well. Truly, you really should have waited until you'd calmed down from your little temper tantrums before you decided to run away, sweetie," As far as I recalled, I had been quite a well-mannered, polite person before I had grown sick and tired of the inane amount of attention and adoration my family had received after winning the Games, so I didn't know what she was talking about. Trust her to try and tarnish my name before I left District Nine; it was only to be expected from the woman whose company and fortunes I had rejected in favour of living out in the wild for three years, "Are you regretting that decision now, honey? Because you should be; it's the thing that convinced everybody to vote for you. And now because of that misunderstanding, you're going to die in this year's bloodbath."

I note the fact that she hadn't inquired about the money I had taken from her before I had run away from Victor's Village; she probably hadn't even noticed the substantial amount I had 'borrowed' from her in order to survive by myself. It wasn't as if running away had been a completely impulsive move on my part; I had planned far ahead enough that I knew that leaving without taking anything when I could was a stupid idea that I would regret.

"...we won't miss you either, in case you were wondering," she continues to gloat over her victory, satisfied that she had managed to gain this small victory over me, the one thing that had threatened her reputation. How glad she must be to finally be rid of the one thing in her way to having her 'perfect' little life, "We'll look forward to watching you succumb to the Hunger Games. You'll never win."

Grinning widely at me, she opens her mouth to continue, but the Peacekeeper from earlier informs her that her few 'precious' minutes with me are up. I'm sure that as soon as she steps outside, she'll be crying crocodile tears and receiving sympathy - all false, naturally - from those around her as she wailed about the "tragic loss" of her only son and how she hoped "darling Lynx" could overcome the odds just like she had done twenty-odd years ago.

Before she gets the chance to leave, I put my hand in my pocket and take out the one item from her that I had taken. I hadn't taken much else but money and a little bit of food, but the ring I held now in my hand was the exception to this rule. Encased in a polished silver band was a glittering diamond the size and shape of a teardrop. The ring itself was very simple - if inordinately expensive for such a useless item - but the meaning that it held for my mother was priceless. From the way that I held it, I could see my mother's name, Doe Wicker, engraved inside the ring. She had received it personally from the President after her 'flawless' victory as District Nine's first ever victor.

I intended to destroy it. And what better place to do it than in the Games, where I could show the whole world just how little the material gains of 'winning' meant to me. I'm sure that my oh-so-materialistic mother would approve of this, and my suspicions are proven correct as her eyes widen. However, she reacts too late for her to try and snatch it off me before the Peacekeeper forcefully leads her away, and I twiddle the ring around my hand extravagantly, mocking her.

She would never get to see neither me nor the ring in person ever again. How _sad_ for her.

* * *

**Well, this chapter is up a little later than I had hoped, but it's still up somewhat quickly and isn't a month late this time :P I'm going away on holiday tomorrow (hence why I rushed to get this chapter posted before then), but I've already written most of the next chapter in advance, so I'll be able to post that when I get back and have some time to edit it. Anyway, I'm going to do that question thing again and ask which tribute was your favourite and why. And if you liked the writing in this chapter in general, of course :)**


	12. Defying Gravity - District 5

Quell it with Fire

The First Quarter Quell

District Five Reapings

**_Paraiba Addams, 15_**

**_District Five,_**

_All it took was a spark. A flickering of orange against the dull, boring environment of this office that I had been shoved in, and the entire world had transformed into a kaleidoscope of colour._

_Really, it wasn't even my fault that I was here, anyway. Well, it kind of was since I had been arrested for 'indecent behaviour' just a few hours ago, and that was how I ended up in this stupid room in the first place. However, it was the Peacekeepers' fault for putting me here anyway, as opposed to detaining me somewhere that wasn't so _boring_. There was nothing in this room that was the slightest bit interesting, which was saying something since there were so many intriguing, pretty things around District Five if you bothered to look. Unfortunately, whoever had designed this room didn't know the importance of colours, and I could feel my mind slowly decaying as a result. All there was here was a nondescript desk placed in front of me, the uncomfortable wooden chair I sat on that was purely there for 'decoration' and some bookcases pressed against the unyielding grey walls, not to mention the light blue curtains that framed the window behind me. I suppose that there were several sheets of paper neatly piled up on the desk as well, but otherwise, there wasn't much opportunity so that I didn't become bored._

_In fact, I was beginning to panic slightly; I couldn't become bored and lack the motivation to do anything. If that happened, I'd turn into another one of those nameless, unresponsive people that had no spontaneity inside them and lived for nothing more than working in some factory until they died. _

_Surprisingly enough, that wasn't exactly what I wanted to turn out like, and I had been scowling at the thought of sitting here doing nothing. I had shoved both hands in my pockets and had settled for staring sullenly at the walls until someone came along to help me out. Luckily for me, it seemed that I still had my lighter on me, and naturally, I had started to use it to set fire to the papers that had been so nicely set out for me. Well, not me exactly, but it was I that had set the fire on it. Wasn't it interesting how the fire consumed first the paper and then itself, leaving nothing but ash in its wake? You had to admit that it was fascinating how the fire seemed to dissipate into its surroundings like it had never existed in the first place after it had consumed everything.  
_

_Pressing one piece of paper between two of my fingers, I lift it up from the table and hold it close to the flame that was burning the fuel in my lighter, entranced by the paper slowly withering away by the power of fire. From where I was looking, it did indeed look like the paper was curling up into nothingness, and it was this that distracted me enough that the burning paper reached my fingers that were holding the paper in the first place. It doesn't hurt too much, but the sudden firing of nerve endings in my fingers shocks me, and I drop what remained of the sheet, watching it flutter gently down to the floor. However, it brushes against one of the curtains on the way down, and the small flame that had been threatening to disappear latches onto this new host, expanding across the fabric quickly and lighting up my surroundings. The way that the fire constantly changes its shape reminds me of a snake moving around, its body never resting or moving predictably. Fixated, I watch the flickering increase as it climbs its way up the curtain, trying to find a pattern in the way that it moved. I was used to being able to tell what people were planning; they were so much more predictable than fire was, since they fell too often for their desires for money, power, fame or lust. Everybody around me were motivated only by those ideals and as a result, it wasn't that difficult figuring out how someone worked from those ideals. It wasn't as if someone did anything purely for someone else, was it now?_

_While my mind was caught up in the predictability of the human race and how selfish they all were, the fire had completely engulfed the curtain and had now jumped over to devour the other one as well. For a second, my mind doesn't think or worry about anything as the light burns itself into my head, until I realise blankly that I don't have a 'safe' way as such of getting out of here. The thought doesn't form fully in my mind and I don't comprehend the implications of this fully as my eyes kept darting back to the ever-changing collage of colours that seemed to invite me to play with them.  
_

_I have to close my eyes and shake my head in order to concentrate fully, but the thought has disappeared, lost in comparison next to the fire that made itself obvious even through my closed eyelids. What had I been thinking of again? Escape? Well, why would I ever need to worry about that when it was right in front of me? The window, reflecting the flames that flickered greedily at the air around it and bordered by the curtains, looked like a pathway to heaven in my mind. A place that looked so enticing and beautiful on the outside and would no doubt be even better when I jumped through it._

_Grinning at the possibility of dancing around in the flames, I try and grab onto the ledge and lift myself up, but the ledge seems to be covered with metal and naturally, it's incredibly hot. It wasn't in the nice way either, like it did when flames tickled your skin, but a dull feeling of pain that numbed your senses and felt unpleasant. However, the reward encourages me to ignore it and to place my feet on the ledge as well. I'm now only a couple of inches away from the tongues of fire that seemed to be softly probing at the space around me, identifying me as something that could succumb to fire. Slowly, I turn around to see how much more of the room was on fire, and I'm not surprised to see that the bookcases that were on the other side of the room were starting to look affected by the chaos I had unleashed here, not to mention the fact that the fire seemed to have spread rapidly and was starting the burn the surroundings outside this inconsequential room. Finally, this place had a little bit of life added to it, a little splash of colour to contrast how drab it had been before. Well, it wouldn't be around for very long, but it may as well look pretty before it was destroyed._

_Gritting my teeth at the inevitable pain that would happen as a result of my next action, I punch my fist into the window, weakening the glass enough that several cracks appeared on the surface. Small shards of glass had also made cuts in my knuckles, causing a stinging sensation to spread across my hand as blood welled up in the shallow wounds caused. Smiling, I allow myself to fall backwards, reducing the rest of the window into meaningless fragments as I fall out of the building into its welcoming embrace below me, allowing the flames to envelop me in their grip.  
_

A harsh rapping sound against hollow wood brings me away from that night when I had unwittingly secured my own fate in the Games and I quickly get up and open the door, trying to smooth my hair and rub the sleep out of my eyes so it didn't look like I had been taking a nap on the couch. The person outside just raises an eyebrow at my hasty attempts to look halfway presentable and I feel a chill run down my spine as my dark brown eyes meet the pink of a familiar Capitol resident.

She just smiles and opens the door wider with one hand, the other clutching an elegant gold package, "I truly hope that you've remembered what will happen today."

Those are the first words that she says to me as she shoves me aside and walks into my house without asking for permission. She then proceeds to place the package she was holding down on the couch and cross one leg over the other, making herself comfortable without even so much as a polite greeting. I have to roll my eyes at her words; did she think that I had forgotten the news of my impending doom in the six or so months since I had last seen her? Most people wouldn't have let that announcement fly over their heads, although the only reason that I had been so keenly aware of this particular situation was because of my mother. Well, it wasn't as if my mother knew the full extent of it, but she knew that the Capitol weren't happy with my antics and that they were singling me out due to my 'rebellious' act a few months ago. The one-and-only Imelda Addams remained clueless to what the Capitol had condemned me to, but she acted like she did, much to my misfortune.

Plastering a friendly smile on my face, I turn around and slam the door shut, watching the woman flinch slightly as the vibrations of the impact rattled the house that I was supposed to call home. In a voice that was as natural as the purple streak in my hair, I manage to chirp out, "Nope, I have not the slightest clue as to what you're on about, miss. And here I was thinking that the Capitol gave everybody a welcoming visit before the Reapings. Silly me."

"Very witty," she replies in a monotone voice, giving me a dirty look, although the effect is somewhat ruined by her eyes as they were still the same encompassing shade of pink as they had been the last time I had seen her, aside from the fact that she had now decided to alter her sclera to match her pupils. To be honest, I was more focused on how much it must have hurt to have your entire eye dyed candyfloss pink than the news that she was going to inform me on.

"Why thank you," I curtsey in a poor attempt to make it look like I was taking this seriously. Mind you, I wasn't really; I just couldn't comprehend the fact that anybody respected in the Capitol would go to such extreme measures to kill one girl from District Five. Would you take someone seriously if they just went up to you and told you that you'd die unless you did whatever they said? The fact that the woman didn't look very threatening physically speaking didn't help, although I was sure that she meant every word she said. I just couldn't really see why they thought punishing me was so important. I hadn't technically succeeded at 'defying the Capitol' or whatever, and that hadn't even been my intention anyway. The Capitol had been the last thing on my mind when starting that fire - which hadn't been entirely intentional either - and although my actions apparently made me an exception to the Capitol's rule of leaving their dirty work to the Peacekeepers, I still couldn't take it seriously while I was still alive and well, "Polite talk and compliments aside, why are you here? Aside from to gloat over my impending doom, that is?"

The woman - whose name I still didn't know - just smiles before grabbing the parcel and throwing it at me. The sudden movement takes me off-guard, but I had fast enough reflexes that I didn't drop it while trying to catch it, "Open it."

I don't make any more comments as I 'neatly' tear open the gorgeous wrapping paper covering the thing. And by neatly, I meant that I tried to shred it with my fingernails before scrunching it up and throwing it in the air like confetti. Sure, the shiny gold paper had been nice to look at, but destroying it was even better. There's a certain satisfaction in reducing something that was once wondrous to behold into nondescript scraps. My good mood disappears when I see what the present actually is; a dull silver bangle that had a familiar-looking insignia stamped into the unremarkable metal. The Capitol symbol.

"Are you kidding me?" That question was the only thing that I could think of at this moment in time, "No way am I wearing this to the Reaping."

"Why ever not?"

"I'm supposed to be dirt-poor, for starters. Imelda would never be able to afford this, and neither would I," Imelda was the charming, kind woman that I was biologically related to, although I was sure that she was regretting being my mother with every breath she took. I wasn't lying when I said that either; it was true that my family were poor, since Imelda had to pay most of the money she had saved up over to the Capitol in order to save me from being publicly executed. I couldn't wait to see her reaction when she realised that her money had been wasted on a lost cause.

"Aw, you don't like it?" she asks, pouting melodramatically at me, "Such a shame; I put so much time making sure that you'd enjoy it."

Confused, I rub my finger over the smooth surface of the bangle - which was covered in a thin layer of what looked like glass - wondering why this Gamemaker would want me to wear something like this. It certainly didn't look special.

"I already have a district token," I reply, moving the bangle from side to side in order to see how the light caught it and was reflected back. At the moment, it wasn't doing much; it certainly wasn't shining as much as I wanted it to. Were they really thinking that I was going to keep something as unremarkable as this as a token? What was the point in that? If I had a token, it would have to be something different, something that stood out. Seeing the scepticism of the Capitol woman, I dig into my pocket and pull out the neon orange lighter that I always carried around. Then an idea pops into my head and I move it in front of the woman's hair, clicking the lighter so that the flame came to life and devoured her hair into ash. Well it would have done, if there had been any lighter fluid left in it, which there wasn't.

The woman tries to flinch away from me, but once she realises that nothing's happening, she turns to me with what I think is supposed to be a glare. I say this because it's kind of hard to read the facial expression of someone whose eyes resemble marbles, but the slight crinkling of her nose and the furrowing of her perfectly-sculpted eyebrows led me to believe that she wasn't impressed. Rudely snatching my token away, she tucks it in her pocket, "Don't worry, you'll get it back," she sneers, "Well, you will if you behave. Now, I believe you and your family have a Reaping to attend, so I won't keep you behind any longer. It would be a shame for your family to be punished for something as petty as breaking the rules now, wouldn't it Paraiba?"

My eyes widen involuntarily at her threat and my voice shakes slightly as I reply, "Th-there's no point in hurting them, you know. I won't be around to s-see it, will I?"

The woman just smiles at this before she turns around and walks out of my house elegantly. Once she's shut the door, it's like she was never here in the first place aside from the foreign piece of jewellery she granted me. In the light filtering through the window, it seems to wink menacingly at me, promising that my brief alliance with fire would not go unnoticed.

"Paraiba, dear, who was that?" I hear a voice, muffled by their distance away from me, call out. Judging by the fact that they were actually speaking to me, I know that it's my mother; someone that I couldn't go blurting out the truth to. She was extremely quick to make judgements at the best of times, and this was anything but that. Somehow, it was doubtful that she would take well to knowing that one of the Gamemakers had decided to pay me a visit to ensure that I knew about the fact that I would be Reaped today. Imelda Addams didn't even know that any Capitol citizens had been in contact with her daughter, so telling her this was out of the question.

"Just one of my friends giving back a something they borrowed from me," I lie quickly, hoping against hope that my flimsy answer would be enough to stop Imelda from launching into one of her tirades about how what I had done was wrong.

The creaking of the stairs warns me that she's going downstairs, meaning that she probably isn't finished with me. Inwardly, I groan as she opens the door, "You let one of your friends borrow your things again? How many times must I tell you that doing such a thing is a bad idea! You have no way of telling what your 'friends' will do with your things! You have to be more careful, especially around those vagrants you spend your time with."

"Excuse me, but who are these 'vagrants' that you're talking about? In case you haven't noticed, _we're_ the lower class of District Five as well. You're insulting yourself too, practically." I point out, rolling my eyes.

Imelda narrows her eyes at me, "And who's to blame for that, eh? We might have still have been living in a house with separate bedrooms and decent heating if it wasn't for you. I gave up living comfortably for you, and this is the thanks that I get?" I note the fact that Imelda only seemed to care about the material things she had lost thanks to me. See? Imelda's mind functioned around the prospect of being rich and having material wealth, as opposed to truly caring about raising her children and looking out for them, "I should have just left you to be dealt with by the authorities like they were supposed to; it certainly would have been a lot simpler for me."

I couldn't tell if Imelda was being serious or if she was just in a bad enough mood that she wasn't thinking through what she was saying properly, but there was little love lost between me and her even before the fire. It wasn't that we hated each other or anything. In fact, we used to get along just fine in the early days of my childhood, the days when I was more dependent on her to grow up properly. I still remembered how I used to idolise Imelda, how I thought she was invincible and that nothing could stop her from doing what she needed to do. However, it seemed that she enjoyed being the heroine in my childhood for a little too long, and hadn't taken well to the inevitable process of me growing up into a teenager. That was when our relationship had quickly grown tense, spoiled by my desire to be independent and Imelda's reluctance to let me be just that. I was aware of the fact that if I just complied with what she wanted, then life would be a little less stressful, but to me, it felt like Imelda was trying to stop me from doing anything. Wasn't I allowed to go out now and again and visit some of my friends without her permission?

I'm not sure entirely of what to say to Imelda's words, since it was uncertain if she was just being dramatic or not, so I go for the safest option that seemed most likely to stop Imelda from saying much else, "Anyway, I need to get ready for the Reaping now, since this is definitely not what I should be wearing for such a prestigious event, is it?" I say in an empathetic voice, knowing that Imelda wouldn't approve of the off-white t-shirt and the worn jeans that I was wearing now.

This stops her as she looks at me with her mouth open in an 'O' shape, "Yes, yes, you might need to hurry along now. I'm glad that you're not going to look like that. Even you have some standards, it seems." With one last snippy comment, she leaves me alone, not noticing the bangle that I had placed myself in front of so that she wouldn't see it.

It didn't look like much, but I had no doubt that it wasn't as harmless as it seemed. The Gamemaker seemed adamant about me wearing it, which was an obvious tip-off as to the fact it meant something important. What that may be was unknown to me, but I'd find out soon enough. Carefully, I slip it on my wrist, knowing that was exactly what the Capitol wanted for me. Well, that was fine. For now, I would play along with whatever game the Capitol was playing, but once I knew the rules, my compliance would no longer be guaranteed.

They had better watch out. Fire couldn't be tamed for long, and I intended on following suit.

* * *

**_Promethium "Rome" Tundra, 17_**

**_District Five,_**

"This is just unacceptable."

Sighing, I lean back against the wall as my mother continues to frantically wave around the sheets of paper that were covered in red ink and corrections. Unfortunately, she notices this small action and narrows her eyes, "And it's no wonder that you're failing all your classes with that attitude, Promethium."

"It's Rome; how many more times do I have to tell you this?" I mutter irritably, frowning at this.

Why did she always insist on using my full name? It was so pretentious and formal, not to mention that it was one of the things off that periodic table that everybody seemed to obsess over during classes. Unfortunately, my mother insisted on making sure that her children were perfectly molded into the typical District Five life, and so she decided that giving me and my siblings these weird, awkward-sounding names was a good idea. It wasn't hard to see why she thought blending in the crowd was the way forward; she had been raised in exactly the same way as she was trying to raise me now, so it was hardly surprising that she thought being the same as everybody else was fine. I was pretty sure that she had been named using the same method as she had named me; Neon was also an element on the periodic table, I knew that much about science. That was one of the few things I did know, however.

"If I named you Promethium, then that is how I'll address you," she replies, before going back to the topic at hand by slamming the papers down against the table. On closer observation, it seemed to be the science exam that I had taken last week. The front cover alone was enough to put me off reading the rest of it, "I'm surprised that you haven't been kicked out yet, if I'm honest."

"Oh gee, thanks Mum. Your encouraging words have helped me out so much," I leaf though page after page of complex diagrams and words that made about as much sense to me as if they had been written in another language, "And when am I ever going to need half of this stuff, anyway? How is this," I point to the bunch of numbers, letters and lines that were supposed to be a formula, "Going to help me in life?"

"It'll help you find a decent job," she replies icily, although I can tell it's because she's trying hard not to lose her temper at me. It wasn't as if she subjected me to these lectures for the fun of it; she just wanted me to be independent and capable of surviving by myself, "You could be helping out the Capitol if you actually tried to apply yourself in lessons, instead of treating it as a joke."

Funnily enough, the mere mention of supporting the Capitol shoots down whatever chance my mother had of convincing me to pay attention at school, "Absolutely. My heart just skips a beat at the thought of starting work in a factory somewhere on minimum wage. That really does sound like the opportunity of a lifetime. Can't _wait_."

"And you think that sitting here, doing nothing at my expense is any better?" When she put it like that, she made me sound like some lazy person who did nothing for the Tundra family. Which was a pretty accurate statement, actually. The only thing that I had ever done for my mother was ruin her reputation as the mother of three clever, intelligent and - above all - _typical_ children, but it wasn't my fault that I didn't want to be viewed as the epitome of a 'perfect' citizen here. I didn't want to be outstandingly educated and clever just so that I could 'fit in'. What was wrong with being different, anyway?

I just smirk, "I'm breathing. That counts as doing something."

She just raises an eyebrow, "Very productive. Glad to hear that's going well for you."

"What's going well for who?" A flash of red hair signals the arrival of my younger sister, Cerium. With an uncertain smile on her face, she stumbles though the door, wearing a light grey dress that would have been pretty if it hadn't been for the occasion that she was wearing it for. The Reaping.

"Well obviously, I just managed to do really well on this test," I stand up properly and pace around the room, "And after the Capitol saw how amazing I was at this, they offered me a job in the Capitol itself."

Mum just snorts at this while Cerium practically hops over to where the sheets were. It didn't take a genius to figure out that I had done anything but 'well' in science; I hated it with a passion. How my mother and Cerium took joy out of memorising formulas and observing test tubes change colour was beyond me, but I was sure that there was some reason they seemed to enjoy it. To me, however, it was all so boring, and the concept of science itself irritated me. Did people really have to know everything about their surroundings? In this district, it seemed that people needed to be certain of something before they did anything, as opposed to just diving into the unknown. I preferred to leave things to the imagination.

Cerium ignores my sarcasm, preferring to giggle slightly at the test. She was still pretty young and didn't quite see the more serious consequences of me failing this. As far as she was aware, it just meant that I had failed that time, but could always try again and succeed later. It seemed to be a by-product of her only being twelve, I supposed. Instead of mocking me, she just smiles and says, "Aw mum, it's obvious he isn't taking these tests seriously. I mean, everybody knows what a parallel circuit looks like, obviously."

I had no idea what she meant by that and I didn't dare ask for an explanation. Mum just shakes her head at me and takes back the paper, "Well, he'd better start growing up soon," she tries to sound stern, but since she has never been one to view me as inferior to herself due to her education, she doesn't quite succeed. Realising this, she deftly changes the topic, "Promethium, why don't you go and show Cerium the outfit you picked for her first Reaping? I'm sure she could do with some support."

Rolling my eyes at her insistent use of my full name, I drag Cerium upstairs, noticing how she suddenly looks a lot more fearful now that the Reaping has been mentioned. I feel irritated at the fact that the mere mention of that event could ruin her day like that, and the fact that she might be the star of the show if she's picked today doesn't help either.

"I don't wanna go," she mumbles, suddenly taking a fascination in the dirt that was embedded in the ratty carpet that covered the floor.

Gently placing my hands on her shoulders, I try and make eye contact with her as I speak, "Cerium, you'll be fine. Look, all you have to do is get your blood taken so they know it's you and wait with your friends in your section. Nobody's going to make you do anything you don't want to."

She shuffles her feet awkwardly, "I don't wanna go," she repeats sullenly, "I might not be picked, but someone else will. I don't want to see who we picked to, you know, go away. Like Z-Zinc was," she stumbles over his name, and my grip unconsciously grows tighter over Cerium's shoulders, "I don't wanna imagine someone else having to go through that."

I don't answer straight away, my mind going back to the time a few years ago when my older brother, Zinc, had disappeared from the household one day. He hadn't committed a crime and been publicly executed for it, he hadn't been Reaped for the Games. No, he had quite simply vanished from the house when my mother had realised he wasn't at home. However, it remained unknown about what had happened to him, and the Peacekeepers hadn't been very forthcoming with the information. That only meant two things could have happened. Either he had defied the Capitol and gotten away with it, or he had willingly ran away and left our family. In either case, the Peacekeepers wouldn't be willing to admit this to us, so we remained in suffocating anonymity.

"Rome?" Cerium asks quietly, "What happened to him, why did he leave us?"

"I'm not really sure," I admit, "He didn't really tell us where he was going, but he'll be back soon," I add this part on as Cerium looks crestfallen, "He'll be back before you know it, and then you'll see him again."

Cerium doesn't look particularly convinced by my words, but there wasn't much else I could really say about Zinc, since there was so much that remained unknown about his disappearance. All I could really do was hope that wherever he was, he was okay. I just really wished that I did know where he was, that I did know what exactly had happened to him. I hated leaving things unresolved, and this matter was just too personal for me to truly let it go. All I really wanted was an answer to what exactly had happened to him, but I guess that I would be waiting a long time for one.

...

"Welcome, welcome, District Five, to the Quell that you bought upon yourself. Aren't you pleased to know that this year's tributes will be chosen all thanks to you?" Elyse, our escort, sneers as she waves one reptilian hand at the anxious, nervous crowd. When I said reptilian, I meant it. There was nothing human at all about the reflective, dark green skin, the wasp-like black eyes or the sharpened nails that the escort had decided were appropriate for a Reaping. I had to admit that her appearance was unnerving, but there was a part of me that also noticed how ridiculous she was being about the whole thing.

I know that she was from the Capitol, and they were no doubt educated to believe that the districts were beneath them, but surely she would want to be mature about this. Openly taunting the children that were hoping their death sentence wouldn't be read out wasn't exactly the most sensible thing to do, but what did I know about the escort? There was a fair chance that she thought this was just the icing on the cake to our punishment for rebelling against the Capitol, and that she was just rubbing it in due to being on the victorious side. Well, nobody except her really knew what compelled her to act the way that she did towards us, and I wasn't going to act like I did. All one could do was speculate, and that wouldn't help me understand Elyse any further.

Out of the corner of my eye, I can see one boy point me out to someone next to him before he sniggers and smirks at me. It's clear from here that he's found something 'wrong' with me that he's exploiting for his own amusement, but it doesn't really bother me. Ever since it became obvious that I lacked the natural talent - or whatever you would call it - to keep up with the education served here, I've been treated somewhat like an outcast. It's not that I'm actively bullied or threatened, but others seemed to find me a disappointment and usually alienated me as a result. There weren't many opportunities for someone who couldn't even get a basic grip on the education provided around here and basically, I was one of the few black sheep around in District Five. Not someone liked, but not someone reviled either; I was just a kid that was looked down on by everyone else so that they weren't at risk of being isolated the same way as I was. As I said, it didn't bother me any, and as long as they kept out of my way, I wouldn't do anything to disturb anyone else.

"And without further ado, we shall now see which young lady has been willingly offered as a sacrifice to the Capitol, shall we?" Elyse smiles at us, baring white teeth that were a strange contrast to the rest of her features. I can see a few of the younger kids shuffle self-consciously as she makes eye contact with them, and those that had been whispering to their friends stop, meaning that the sound of the paper being unfolded is just about audible from where I'm standing.

"Paraiba Addams."

"Ooh, I volunteer!" A voice shouts from the section of fifteen year old girls, and a girl dashes out of the crowd. Her eyes dart around, never staying fixated on one place for long, as she sprints over to the stage. There's a grin on her face as she tucks one curl behind her ear, although it does little to make her short, frizzy hair - which seems almost black at first glance - look any neater as the ends seems to be choppily cut off. The most striking feature about her are the few purple streaks in her hair that look suspiciously like she tried to dye her hair. There was no way that it could be natural, after all. Continuing to bare her teeth in a similar manner to the escort, the girl waves dramatically at the crowds before snatching the microphone from Elyse.

"Hello, District Five! I'm so honoured to be here today!" She starts, sounding excessively perky and irritating, "Truly, I'm so thankful for those that made this possible fo - " her words are cut off quickly as Elyse takes back the microphone rudely, glaring at the would-be volunteer.

"No volunteers are allowed, dear. Try again next year; you'll probably get the part." Elyse's lips curve up in an empty smile, her eyes void of emotion aside from irritation.

The girl pouts, "Aren't you even going to ask for my name?" She asks quickly, her eyes scanning her surroundings. I probably would have done the same; it was surprising that the Peacekeepers hadn't dragged her off yet for tarnishing the Reaping. However, when I take a look at what the Peacekeepers are doing about her, I'm confused at how laid-back they seemed to be. Not a single one of them were making any movement towards the stage, and I even spot a few smiling smugly at the events taking place.

Elyse sighs, "And your name is?"

"Paraiba Addams," The girl smiles impishly, evidently taking satisfaction in the way that Elyse clenches her fists as she realises she's been outsmarted by this Paraiba girl. It was now quite clear that she wouldn't have volunteered if her name hadn't been called out today. As to why she had done it, well I didn't know, and it wasn't as if I could ask her now.

Without saying another word to Paraiba, who was still smiling at Elyse's frustration, she claws around in the bowl for the one slip of paper and then calls out the name written down.

"Promethium Tundra." Elyse reads out, sounding less enthused about the prospect of the districts getting what they deserved than she had done before Paraiba had been chosen.

For a few seconds, I'm frozen, trying to comprehend the implications behind my name being called out while everyone slowly makes my presence known to the Capitol. I can't seem to make my feet move forwards as I realise that I'm going into the Games, that I'm going into the place that served as a death sentence to nearly every District Five resident that had ever been involved in the Games. Quickly, I try and look calm, but I can feel my eyes widening involuntarily as fear kicks in. Every nerve in me feels like I've been shocked, like the electrical shocks I receive back in school every time I made a mistake with wiring something, and my hands won't stop shaking.

_Come on, just place one foot in front of the other. It's not that difficult; your body can still function properly. _I try and tell myself, slowly detaching myself from the crowd and giving up the last delusion of privacy I had. Slowly walking down the path to the stage, I can feel the weight of dozens of eyes watching and silently assessing me, only seeing me as one more person that had to be sacrificed so that the chances of them going into the Games were lowered for one more year. That's all my district ever did; watch. They watched as the children they had lined up to give them a death sentence were taken away, and nobody was doing anything. I couldn't hear anyone muttering about how cruel this was of the Capitol to do this to their children, or how they wished that me or Paraiba would survive the Games intact. There wasn't even anyone wishing us a swift end to this punishment that we were suffering now. No, they just observed, without any attempt at trying to defy this.

I hated how they didn't even seem to care, didn't even try to be sympathetic. All that seemed to matter to these people was making sure that the machine that was District Five functioned perfectly, and me and Paraiba were just two spare parts that didn't fit in. It was obvious that they didn't expect me to return, and maybe it would be better if I didn't.


	13. Cream of the Crop - District 11

Quell it with Fire

The First Quarter Quell

**_Cilla Jardine, 18_**

**_District Eleven,_**

"Again, Cilla!" My grandfather orders, gesturing sharply to the remains of what had once been a pile of burlap sacks, "You wouldn't be acting like this if you were being attacked, would you now?"

Raising the pitchfork I was using, I bring it down and make three long scratches down the side of the fabric; a fatal wound if that had been a real person, "Why do I even need to learn how to use one of these?" I inquire, "It's not as if I'll be using these in combat, is it?"

"Do you really need to ask that?" He replies disdainfully, "District Eleven is a dangerous place to live in; you never ever know what will happen around here. I would have thought that living here for your whole life would have taught you that you can't anticipate where an attack will come from."

He did have a point; the squalid conditions that we had to endure had done little to establish a sense of community and unity among the residents of District Eleven, and the fact that this part of District Eleven was ridiculously overpopulated meant that theft and crime were rife. If you were arrogant enough to flaunt off what belongings you had, then you'd be lucky enough to get through the day without anybody bothering you. Around here, nothing could be afforded to go to waste; if something didn't work properly, or was worn out beyond its original use, then you found another use for it pretty quickly. It wasn't as if many people had the resources to replace their property.

Take the worn sacks stuffed into one another that I was using as a makeshift training dummy. They were riddled with holes that were large enough for any produce to fall out of, hence why I had chosen them to be shredded by my pitchfork for practicing. After they were ruined, the scraps were used to be stitched over any patches in our clothes where the thread had worn thin. Like I had said, you couldn't afford to waste anything around here.

Oblivious to my thoughts, my grandfather continues to talk. As he continues, I recognise the early signs of him reiterating what he has already told me several times before. Mind you, he's never had the greatest memory, "And you know that our family will always be more of a target than others, Cilla. You know of the prejudice that we face due to our appearance. We don't fit in, which makes us targets."

"I know, grandfather," I reply politely, trying not to show my impatience.

He remains oblivious to my thoughts, "You know I worry for you, sweetheart. I just don't want to see you hurt. You know of what happened to my daughter - your mother. I wouldn't know what I'd do if the same happened to you," his voice becomes harder to hear as he trails off, "I don't know how I'd cope, wouldn't know how to cope..."

Even after all these years, my grandfather has still not gotten over the sudden loss of my mother and still reflected on how he might _possibly_ have been able to save her. I personally found his regrets and sorrow to be overkill after all this time. Sure, it would have made sense when it had actually happened, but the fact that he could barely talk about her now was fairly ridiculous. I suppose that's a strange and cold way of looking at her death and how it had affected my grandfather, but it had happened years ago. I was barely a toddler when it had happened, and I had been told the story in an annoyingly vague way when I was ten. The fact that her death might have been caused by the racist views that some citizens of District Eleven had never even crossed my mind before now, mainly because I hadn't really had much cause to dwell on her death. What was the point of wallowing in the past when you still had to be wary of the future? In any case, all I had ever been told was that my mother had fallen victim to a vicious mugging when I was a small child and had succumbed to her injuries shortly afterwards.

I was certain that this was why my grandfather insisted that I learned how to protect myself, just in case the people that had murdered my mother held a grudge against my family in general. And because people wrongly presumed that I acted arrogant and haughty because of my skin colour, I had been involved in a fair number of fights over some casual slur against Caucasian people that I had taken offense to. Sure, some people told me that I needed to relax and 'take a joke' without resorting to anger, but surely people could make others laugh without needing to insult or put down others? Although, I suppose there wasn't really a lot to laugh about in this district aside from the 'failings' of others.

The gripping of my grandfather's hand startles me out of my thoughts, "You have to be alert at all times!" He tells me urgently, "You might be chosen today, you can't be taken unaware!"

"Grandfather, calm down!" I say abruptly, still feeling the unpleasant feeling of being shocked, "I'll be fine. They won't choose me."

"Oh, but they might," he mutters ominously, "I heard them at the Reaping ballots. They were saying that they want District Eleven to have a chance, a decent chance in the Games. I heard your name, Cilla, they might think you can win." His grip on my arm increases in intensity as he starts to panic, eyes wide.

I could see why he was worried. Last year had been a typical year in terms of how well our district had done, as in, both tributes died in the bloodbath. I couldn't say this came as a shock to me; Wisteria was nothing but some air-headed ditz who was too obsessed with protecting her 'true love', the District Nine boy, to actually protect herself, and Dalen had been a well-intended, but ultimately weak, boy that never would have won. Both had died one after the other, and naturally, those that cared about district pride wouldn't want that to happen yet again this year. District Eleven weren't as petty as to choose people that they didn't like; it wasn't as if you could condemn every person you didn't like to the Games here, as there were so many people to conflict with. If you chose anybody around here, you'd want to pick someone that has a good chance. It wasn't as if I had ever trained specifically for the Games; living as a minority in the rougher parts of District Eleven was reason enough to want to protect yourself, but my measures gave me more of a chance than most of the children here. I did indeed have a good chance at being picked today.

However, I don't have a lot of time to take on this startling new possibility that threatened to ruin my life because my grandmother interrupts my thoughts.

"Carl! Cilla! You two need to hurry up, or we'll be late for the Reaping!" The voice of my grandmother resonates through the thin wooden walls that separate me and my grandfather from my grandmother. Reacting immediately, I hurry to shove the ruined burlap sacks in the wicker basket for later and quickly hide the pitchfork underneath the window, so that any casual observer peeking through the window wouldn't see it straight away.

Not that anybody should be able to see into my house, since a thin layer of thread masquerading as curtains covered the gap that allowed light through, but it was wise to take precautions with my pitchfork. District Eleven citizens weren't allowed to carry anything that could remotely be used as a weapon, but since I lived right next to the fields that I worked at, I had taken the risk of 'borrowing' it to defend myself with during the training sessions my grandfather insisted I take. He had taken to these classes with a fanatical determination, almost as if he was trying to make up for how he had failed to protect his own daughter. It made sense that he would want to protect the only child that he had left to raise. Aside from me, my grandparents were the only other members in our family, and it wasn't as if many citizens here went out of their way to make us feel safe.

For some reason, looking different meant that people felt it appropriate to treat us as inferior to them. The thought of it is almost enough to make me clench my fists in anger. Honestly, the fact that I was immediately judged due to a genetic matter that was beyond my control disgusted me. Why did it matter that my skin was pale compared to the dark brown that the majority of District Eleven citizens had? All it meant was that I was more susceptible to the harsh sun that damaged my skin and blistered it red, but that wasn't something to laugh about. Really, nothing was around here.

"Come on," I gently prompt my grandfather in a rare gesture of kindness that I only reserved for those that I knew wouldn't judge me for my appearance, "We'll never have to worry about this after this Reaping."

The fact that the Quell was taking place on my last Reaping only worked in my favour. After today, I would never have to even think about the Games again and I could go back to living life normally without fear that the Hunger Games would corrupt my family's way of life anymore. Well, it wasn't as if I actually paid that much attention to the Hunger Games anyway; they never affected me, so I had never invested much effort in watching or hating them. Don't get me wrong, I don't support the idea of twenty four kids trying to kill each other every year, but I knew full well that if I was to be Reaped to enter, I would do everything I could to make it back home. And when you took that into consideration, there wasn't much point hating the Capitol for hosting the Games either. I had just said that I would be happy to play along with them if it increased the possibility of me winning, after all. Hating the Capitol would be hypocritical in that sense, yes?

Taking Grandfather's hand, I pull him along and out of the door, squinting as the unrelenting sun shone in my blue eyes. There were hardly any trees that were tall or leafy enough to provide sufficient cover or shade from the sun, meaning that I often suffered from sunburns. No matter how much time I spent working in the fields for most of the day, I never seemed to tan. It was only another thing that people saw 'wrong' with me and another reason why I didn't really belong here. Sometimes, I wonder if my family have distant relations in another, higher-up district. It was possible, since traveling between districts had next-to-no restrictions before the Dark Days, and it wasn't as if my wine-coloured curls and watery blue eyes were native to District Eleven. The fact that my grandparents shared these traits told me that my appearance was no weird fluke.

I let my grandfather in the hands of my grandmother as I try to join the queue without drawing attention to myself. However, my unusually tall stature - tall among the stunted figures of the younger and poorer children, anyway - and 'undesirable' looks automatically make me stand out, regardless of my actions, and sure enough, I'm the subject of harsh whispering and judgmental looks passed my way. However, they all fall silent when they realise that I can actually hear them, and I roll my eyes at their behaviour. Did they think I couldn't hear them? Idiots. On the plus side, nobody openly challenges me and I get my blood taken and I'm led to the section for the eighteen year old girls without any trouble.

It made for a great improvement over last year, where a girl the same age as me complained about having to be in the same section as a white girl, although she didn't use such elegant terms to describe me. That had ended with the girl's nose breaking, me sporting some impressive - abet painful - scratch marks down my cheek for the next few days afterwards, and the Peacekeepers had intervened forcefully, probably causing more injuries to me and the girl in the process of breaking us up. In all honesty, I still think she deserved it for being so abhorrent in her behaviour. She could at least have kept quiet about her 'plight' like I'm _sure_ others must be now.

"Hel-hello District Eleven!" A cheery voice draws everybody's attention to the stage, where a colourful-looking man stared right back at us, looking slightly cowed at the prospect of announcing the two tributes who would enter this year's arena, "I-I-I hope you a-all had a won-wonderful day so far, an-and I'm s-s-sure you can't wa-wait to find out w-who g-gets the honour of be-being this ye-year's tributes!" I almost chuckle at how poor a liar this man is. It's obvious that he's terrified of us 'barbaric' and 'brutal' district citizens and thinks that we might try and lynch him or something. After all, the only impression that most of the Capitol citizens have of us is children brutally murdering each other over basic supplies, backpacks and weapons. Most of them have never visited District Eleven; it's no surprise that they fear us. We do outnumber them, even if we are hopeless without any weapons or resources to speak of. I think this fear increased when the male tribute a few years back outright attacked him. It had been entertaining to witness, but the impertinent soul who dared to do anything as outrageous as lay a hand on one of the Capitol's pedigree citizens ended up 'accidentally' falling into a bush full of wasp mutts that had drilled into his body to lay their eggs. The pain he looked like he had been in while his body was slowly hollowed out had successfully discouraged any further attacks on the escort from then.

"A-and for o-our female tri-tribute, w-we have Cy-Cyla?" While I had remembered the gruesome demise that the Games had provided, the escort looks confusedly at the slip before the escort figures out how to pronounce the name, "S-sorry, I m-m-meant C-Cilla Jardine. Yes, Cilla Jardine i-is the t-tribute."

Despite the escort butchering the name, I realise that it's me that's been called. Involuntarily, my mouth forms a small 'o' in surprise in disbelief. I had been called? Out of every single child here, I had accrued the most amount of votes and had been considered the strongest competitor? It was surprising considering the number of children here.

_Maybe it's not just your skills though, _a voice reasons inside me._ You've never been respected or admired - you're barely tolerated around here, Cilla. You might have a chance, but they won't be sad to see you gone._

Before the cameras get a chance to locate where I am, I blink thrice and close my mouth, starting to walk forwards confidently with a smile on my face like I had been hoping to get Reaped. It was a good tactic for making me look like a strong competitor, and sponsors would consider me when betting on who they thought had a chance. At least, that was what I hoped looking confident would do to my chances of success, anyway. For some reason, I wasn't quite as thrilled as I was letting on at being in the Games. As a matter of fact, I was fuming silently at the fact that my chances of having a decent life outside the Games had been dashed at the post. It was my last year, for crying out loud, and it wasn't as if I couldn't pinpoint the blame on some really shitty luck. No, I had been chosen for this. It was hard not to feel resentful for those that looked relieved at the prospect of not being in the Games as I approached the stage. It wasn't as if they were going into the Games, knowing that their district had supported what was basically a death sentence. I didn't care that I had a decent chance in the Games, because the fact remained that I didn't want to be here, and that was never going to change.

Did District Eleven really think it would be that simple to gain a victor out of me? That all they had to do was pick someone that looked capable and make a gift out of them? They'll soon see that a victory isn't set in stone for anyone, that victors weren't made out of factors as black and white as that.

* * *

**_Fir "Fox" Crusix, 17_**

**_District Eleven,_**

The escort looks even more terrified once the girl has reached the stage, and it's not hard to see why. Something about her imposing body and the cold, assured manner that she held herself with told me that you wouldn't want to get on her bad side. Most people tended to treat me the same way; they either avoided me or sought out my company because they found my stoic nature to be intriguing. I much preferred it when people left me alone and didn't try complicating matters by feigning friendships with me.

I liked keeping things simple. Try and mess that up, and I wouldn't be happy. And not many people liked irritating me; it didn't usually lead to good things with them. It wasn't like I went around trying to intimidate others though, since I would take solitude over crowds any day. Any situation that required me to stand out and be the centre of attention wasn't anything that I particularly enjoyed doing. Now wasn't bad as far as being noticed went; I was in a crowd and everybody around me were too busy praying that their name wouldn't be called out by the escort. Of course, that sort of thing happened every time the Reaping came around, but the fearful attitude was especially prominent this year, for obvious reasons. There were too many obvious choices this year to really be certain. The mayor of District Eleven wanted two strong, capable tributes this year and had altered the reaping ballots - with the approval of the Capitol - so that only those that were considered 'tough' and 'independent' were on the list of children that you could vote for. Considering the fact that many District Eleven citizens were too malnourished to use that as an advantage in the Games, the list had only consisted of a select few - maybe a hundred or so children?

"W-well, I'm su-sure that you're ple-pleased with Cyla," the escort continues to stutter, looking uncomfortable at the hostility that some of the children were radiating. I can sympathise with feeling awkward around others; I too could barely stammer out a sentence and make myself clear to others, although I doubted it was for the same reason.

"It's Cilla," the girl points out, raising her chin to look down on the escort while skewering him with her harsh blue eyes. She conveys enough scorn to make the escort flinch, before he continues.

"A-a-anyway, I-I-I think it's ti-time to s-select the m-male tr-tribute," not making eye contact with any of the crowds waiting below him, he scurries over to the bowl and unfurls the slip, "F-Fir Cr-Crusix."

Fear runs through me as I realise that I've been Reaped for the Games, and I tense up at all the images connected with the Games move sluggishly through my brain, reminding me at every possibility why this was bad bad bad.

_Running away from the Career pack of four during the Tenth Hunger Games, the District Five boy had ended up impaled through the throat by a well-aimed spear, his neck spraying crimson everywhere as his cannon fired._

It was bound to happen though; I had been aware of the fact that my name would have been on that infamous list the mayor had made, and I had never been gifted with the best of luck. Something like this really shouldn't be a surprise to me, but there was still an unpleasant jolt of shock attached to the dismal truth.

_The pressure from the Games had ended up driving the District Four girl to madness, causing her to stumble around and viciously attack anybody that she encountered, her mind empty of any form of higher thought processes. She hadn't taken into consideration the fact that the District Nine boy was armed; a fact that had ended with both their lives lost in the ensuing battle._

Everybody around me is silent as I reach the stage, trying to ignore the fact that I towered over both the escort and Cilla. She was reasonably tall, but she only reached up to my shoulders. It gave me an excuse to not look directly into her eyes. I wasn't interested in fostering a friendship with someone who I may possibly have to kill sometime soon, and Cilla didn't look like someone who would accept any pitiful attempts I made at being friendly anyway.

_Being nice hadn't helped the District Eight girl, Alexandra, when she had wrongly presumed that the seemingly innocent girl Reaped by District Two actually needed her help. Her consideration made her let her guard down for a few seconds, but it was all that the girl needed to throw her overboard the ship that had been the arena last year._

Each and every one of those scenarios could be played out again with me starring as one of the main characters. I could be the one that ends up dying in a futile attempt to escape from the Careers. I could lose any semblance of my original self in the arena and have the Capitol corrupt me once and for all. Even the smallest of threats could end up killing me, and I might not even see it coming. The different possibilities of how my life could end in the arena spin around in my mind, overwhelming me with the sheer number of ways I could die.

"An-and that co-concludes t-the Re-Reaping for the F-first Que-Quell," the escort tries to end the Reaping on a high note, but only succeeds in concluding my death sentence in a whimper. I guess that was how my life was going to end in the arena; not saving any of my family, nor would my life escape me during my sleep. Only the firing of a cannon would alert everybody to the fact that I was dead, that I was no longer living in this world. Everybody would witness my death and savour my pleas for my life, but nobody will ever care.

...

"This isn't fair!" Alder, one of my closest friends, shouts, storming into the Justice Building and slamming the door shut behind him with so much force that the window near me shakes slightly. I stare at Alder in shock; he hardly ever flaunts his emotions so openly, but I guess me being chosen to enter the Games has broken down the walls he puts up for everybody, at least temporarily.

"This isn't fair!" He repeats, glaring at the walls around him with hot blue eyes, "You had so much to live for, and now this happens?"

"I-i-i-it w-was fa-fated t-to hap-happen," I manage to spit out, my words seeming cheap and worthless next to Alder's.

This makes Alder's expression darken, "Fate," he twists the word into a snarl, "What was the point of living, Fir? What was the point of having you exist in this world if you're just going to die now? You've barely lived, and now you'll never get the chance."

There's a pause while I try to gather the thoughts in my head and form coherent words out of them, but the only thing I manage to say is, "I mi-might not d-d-d-die."

"Does it matter now? You'll go in and you'll never be the same. I know you; there's no way you can deal with killing others! Could you take another kid's life, knowing that they have families and friends and lives to come back to? Could you really do that to someone?"

"Wh-why are y-you s-s-saying this?" I ask, confused at what seemed to be Alder trying to discourage me from winning. As far as my mind could see, that was the same thing as asking me to not come home. However, he did have a point; killing others just to increase my lifespan by a few days wasn't how I wanted to survive. Most of all, how could I bring myself to kill those that had enjoyed life for even less time than I had? The mere thought of hurting a twelve or thirteen year old kid pleading me for their life was so revolting and obscene that I immediately shake it from my mind.

He gives me a pitying look - the closest thing that Alder ever gets to showing signs of sympathetic emotions, "You're going to die in there, Fir," he says quietly, all signs of his earlier anger gone, "And I don't want to watch you turn into a monster. Man, I don't want to see you die either, but I'd prefer that to watching you kill."

"M-m-maybe I-I-I could h-have it b-both w-w-ways," I suggest, clutching at straws in order to get Alder to suggest that I might possibly have a chance without having to kill and discard my morals, "I j-just want to li-live. I-is that so ba-bad?"

"They'll never allow that," Alder points out bitterly, "It's too easy then, if you never had to do anything bad. You never know, it just might count as rebellious if you don't. And everybody knows that the Capitol will never allow that," a knock at the door indicates that Alder's three minutes are up and he gives me one last rueful look, "Don't change for them, Fir. It's not worth it."

Before my brain has the chance to even comprehend the words he spoke, he closes the door gently behind him. It's not that he was in a hurry to leave or anything like that, but the words he said take so long for my mind to understand that by the time I've made a response, it's too late. However, my mind works well enough that I understand why Alder was acting the way he was. He didn't want to see the Capitol twist me into someone unrecognisable, but he knew full well that in order for me to remain sane, I would have to give up my life. But the Capitol had already reduced my chances of living to such a pathetic amount that really, it probably didn't even matter if I played by their rules or not; chances are that I'd die anyway. Was there really any point in even trying to survive?

I had always put a lot of stock into making the most out of and appreciating every day that I lived through, ever since the accident that had almost taken my life away from me. Every day that I survived through had been a blessing ever since; my right to live had almost been snatched away, and I couldn't take the chances that it would happen again without me at least trying to achieve something with my life. I could still remember the disorientating sensation of my head hitting the ground at full speed, the confused muddle my thoughts had ended up in, the haze I had stumbled around in as my thoughts struggled to link together to form decisions and actions. Needless to say, it was an unpleasant experience, but it had taught me that life could very easily be taken away, so you had to enjoy it while you could. Up until now, I had happily lived by that motto, but now I had to face up to the choice of either cutting short other lives, or losing my own in the process.

"Fir."

The familiar voice snaps me out of my thoughts and I glare at the man that stands in the door frame. Why was _he_ here? Why now, out of all the possible times to pick to have a 'happy' family reunion, had my father decided to waste the last hour of my life in District Eleven on rubbing it in about how little he really cared for me and my siblings?

He opens his mouth, but instead of the cold, cutting orders that he usually addresses me with, his mouth spews out an equally fake mixture of 'sincere' comments and sickly sweet apologies, "I'm sorry son, for never appreciating you while you were around. You were right to be angry about me marrying someone so soon after your mother had died; you were only a child, after all, and you lacked the foresight to see that it was all for the greater good."

The greater good? My father had an affair with another woman way before my mother had died. What made it worse was that Talia - the woman that did a poor job of raising me like a surrogate mother - had been my mother's best friend before she had succumbed to cancer. Now, Talia and my father acted like my mother had never been born, working together to destroy any traces of her existence in my life in a poor attempt to make it look like Talia was my mother. I'm pretty sure a real mother would have actually turned up to see her son off before he entered the Games, but that was only the tip of the iceberg as to how ineffectively Talia could raise children and how little she cared.

My father continues, apparently oblivious to the daggers I was sending his way, "I know that at times, Talia was a little...heavy-handed with raising you, but you have to believe that she has your best interests at heart, even if you can't see that," he swallows, and it takes him a lot of effort to get out the next few words, "I'm sorry for not being there for you Fir, and I know you won't care, but I do love you and I want to see you come home. Please, at least try."

Once he's stopped talking, he looks at me, gesturing that it was my cue to talk. However, there isn't anything that I wanted to say to this man, not a single word. He might think that he could just waltz in here, deliver his lines and expect everything to be okay again, but I refused to join in with his petty games. I already had enough on my mind without my father trying to distort my view of him. Turning away, I play with one of the sequins on the pillow, effectively dismissing him. This much he manages to pick up, slinking away with a half-hearted, "Good luck; you'll need it."

I don't pay him any attention as he leaves. If anything, I'm glad that I won't have to see him anymore, knowing that he had cheated on my mother with so little guilt and still maintained a relationship with the woman that had stolen my father's affections. I'm sure that as soon as he's left the building, he'll slink right back to Talia and they would continue living their lives without an ounce of guilt, just like when my mother had died. Despicable, both of them.

Now though, I'm faced with the possibility of committing acts even worse than lust or greed; I would be fighting for my life soon, and the only way that I could save myself was at the price of killing others. I had called my father immoral for his lack of sorrow over my mother's death, so caught up was he with Talia's charms. Now, however, I was in an even worse situation, and I had actually considered the prospect of killing others as something that benefited me.

It's either me or them, but is that really a choice?


	14. Rumour Has It - District 6

Quell it with Fire

The First Quarter Quell

District Six Reapings

_**Althea Kayson, 18**_

_**District Six,**_

I'm trapped between the world of reality and dreams, the twilight world where you were still sleeping, but you could still think consciously, could still enjoy the experience of not being able to think of anything beyond this moment. While I was here, my sleepy mind was safe and worry-free, being unable to imagine or care about the pressure of being alive, while I could take comfort in the warmth that I could feel from the person sleeping next to me. I snuggle in closer to him, smiling slightly when he wraps his arm around me. I can feel his warm fingers gently tracing my shoulder, providing me with a sense of security and peace. When I was still somewhat asleep, I could pretend that there was nothing beyond this little bubble that I had constructed here and that nothing that happened outside of here could bother me. It was a nice feeling.

"You're exquisite," the voice whispers, making me shiver slightly as I realise that I do not recognise this voice. My unease only grows when his hand slides down to my hips, awakening my senses.

Opening my eyes, the sight of creased bedsheets and curly red hair splayed over rumpled pillows shakes the last tendrils of sleep away from me and I calm down considerably. I had nothing to fear here, although the curtains and carpet - which wasn't threadbare - told me that I was in a house far more luxurious than the apartment I lived in. At least it was somewhat quiet here, quieter than in the more run-down, crowded areas of District Six. Actually, it was eerily quiet here. When I had the time to relax in my own apartment, there was always been the bustle and hum of human activity, but here there was none of that. It was like the entire house I lived in was empty, which seemed difficult to comprehend since many District Six residents lived in crowded flats and apartments. The place that I lived in, well, it was impossible to find a few second's worth of silence.

Blinking sleepily, I stretch slowly before I aim a smile at the man next to me, "I'm sure you've experienced that for yourself."

"Indeed I have," he replies, eyes traveling over my body, "You're beautiful, you know," his voice is still slightly husky, "I think you're the best I've ever had, and that's saying something, eh?"

I don't believe a word of this, but I smile anyway, making it look like I fell for his lie when he probably tells every girl like me in District Six the same thing. By tomorrow morning, he'll have probably forgotten about me and be feeding the exact same lie to the next pretty girl from the Other Side of District Six. Here, I'm sure they've given the place where I live another name, but for me, the run-down areas of District Six are known as the Other Side. There's a pretty big divide between the rich and the poor here, although this never stops the richer men from straying in and flirting with us, "Aw, really? I'm glad I could be of service. Maybe that could be rewarded with a tip?" I bite my lip seductively as I look up, making sure to concentrate on the flecks of gold in his green eyes.

The clenching of his jaw confirms what I already know; last night hadn't been the best time of his life but - surprisingly - he doesn't object. Some men, who were also from this part of town, threatened me if I dared push my luck with the few coins and notes I usually received. It was obvious that my lowly position as a prostitute meant I had very little sway with the authorities that happily accepted hefty bribes, but this didn't seem to be the case here. Instead, he leans over to the drawer by the side of the bed and receives a messy wad of cash. Without a spare glance at it, he throws it in my direction, scattering notes everywhere over the bed, "Happy now?"

My eyes widen involuntarily at his casual dismissal of what looked like a fairly sizable amount of money, and I try not to look too desperate as I order the money back into a neat pile. It was almost double what I usually received from a client. I just manage to keep the surprise out of my voice, "T-thank you."

He just shrugs, "It's not really mine, anyway."

I'm curious as to what he means by this, but before I get the chance to ask him to elaborate, I hear the front door opening. Immediately, I realise that this must be a relative, most likely his lover or something along those lines. How else could the person access this place if they didn't already live there?

"Honey, I'm home!" A distant voice calls out, effectively wiping the smile off my client's face and confirming my suspicions. When he turns to face me, his expression is anything but pleased. Before his lover had appeared, I had been his way of 'relieving his stress' but now it seemed that my presence was going to turn out badly for him. He probably wished that he hadn't wasted more money than necessary on me, since I was going to be costing him a lot more trouble now. Well, that wasn't my problem.

"Ah, looks like I better be going now," I say cheekily, slipping away from his grip and sliding out of the bed easily, grabbing the clothes that were sprawled across the floor. I didn't think that he would really object to me wearing the off-white, sleeveless top and the tight jeans that I had brought with me. Somehow, they were a _tiny_ bit more classy than the lace bra and pants I was currently dressed in.

I have just enough time to slip on my top and smooth it out a little before me and the man are no longer alone. When the door opens, the smile that had been present on the woman's face immediately falls as she takes in my presence, how my curly red hair was messed up, how the clothes I wore were creased and the sheets I sat on were rumpled. Also, she must have noticed that I was pretty in some way, which was usually an important factor when these situations happened to me. I wasn't vain, nor did I take pride in this assumption, but surely the only reason that her lover wanted me was for my looks, yes? It really was doubtful that this man had chosen to spend his time and money with me because of my personality, so clearly I must be attractive in some way.

She looks stunned at the scene before her, an expression I was familiar with from witnessing several partners come to terms with the fact that they had been played. This, unfortunately, wasn't the first time that a situation like this had occurred with my help, no matter my motives in the matter, "K-Kope?" She seems incapable of speech for a second as she places a hand over her chest before she recovers her composure. Without even a second glance or accusation in the direction of her lover, the woman directed her anger towards an easier, more vulnerable target; me, "This is your fault!"

Of course, she doesn't even seem - or want - to consider the fact that her husband had willingly sought out my company and offered me money for this. I guess since I was younger and more of a stranger to this woman, she felt it was simpler to blame me for everything. She'd learn her lesson soon enough though; men were fickle, guileless beings that had little concept of the word love - if the number of tired men wanting a break from being devoted to their wives and looking for that with me had taught me anything - and would soon grow tired of being with one girl. There was no point in trying to pretend otherwise. However, her husband happily latches onto the scapegoat that I temporarily provided.

"Yes, you should have kept your distance from a married man," he sneers haughtily, disregarding the fact that he had given me his permission and had paid me for my time. Clearly, he wasn't the brightest crayon in the box.

Turning to face the woman, I blink slowly, putting on a contrite expression, "I apologise, miss," I reply calmly, trying not to be rude to her. After all, it wasn't her fault that her husband had slept with me, and besides, I always tried to be polite to people I had only just met. Somehow, it felt wrong to be rude to someone who hadn't tried to spite me in any way, "I wasn't aware that you two were married. Now, I'm sure you two don't want me interfering with your, er, reunion, so I'll be leaving you alone now - "

She seems taken aback at my manners and calm demeanor, but this doesn't stop her from narrowing her eyes at me in distaste, "I know you," she speaks slowly, trying to think through where she might know me from as she snaps her fingers. After a few seconds, recognition lights up her features, "Yes, I've seen you around before, ruining other people's relationships with your ways. Maybe you should run right back to your flat where all the other whores like you belong. You don't belong here."

There's something in her eyes that puts me on edge, and I know perfectly well that due to her wealth, there's no way that outright arguing with her would result in anything good for me. Everybody in District Six knew that the authorities were biased towards those that had money, and if this woman decided to cause a big scene and accuse me of wrecking her marriage or whatever, then the odds of me being proved 'innocent' were not looking great. However, I decide to lean over and plant a kiss right on my former client's lips before I back away, pick up my shoes and the pile of notes that I had earned out of this fiasco and run past her, "Have fun!"

She whirls around as I retreat, looking less than impressed at my audacity, "How dare you do that to my husband!"

"Oh, don't you worry!" I call out as I run down the stairs. Sure, I was rubbing this in her face a little, but she could have been a tad more understanding of my situation, so it wasn't as if it was entirely unfounded. And it wasn't like I could resort to my first impulse, which was to make a snippy comment about her attitude, "I'm sure he loves you really!"

"Maybe after today, you won't find this so funny," her words do stop me, as I presume that she's on the verge of calling the Peacekeepers on me, but what she has in mind is a lot worse, "I'm not the only one that's had enough of your ways, but I'm sure you'll see at the Reaping. In our eyes, you're more trouble than you're worth, dear."

...

The only person to witness me running away from the scene was a sullen-looking boy that had glowered at me as I passed, probably judging me because of what I had to do to survive. I mean, it was probably just dandy for him, always having enough food on his table, but not all of us were so lucky. Actually, I had gotten off lucky with my job - if you called it that. All I really did was have sex with men for money, and that was hardly something strenuous or demanding. Sure, people looked down on me because - oh my - I actually got paid for the pleasure, but it was miles better than working in a factory if you asked me. It came with a worse reputation than being the usual industrial worker like my parents were. Anyway, married couples did it all the time without being paid, and nobody ever accused them of being 'manipulated', so I didn't really see why this applied to my job. It wasn't something that I really wanted to do, but if it helped keep my family from starvation, then I could deal with the consequences just fine.

It wasn't as if my family had been starving anyway before I had turned to this, but that was largely due to the tesserae that I had taken out. We had been so close to making my brother, Ase, take out a few slips in his name; something that I had been trying to avoid by adding my own name instead. If I was going to be entered already, then I may as well increase my chances a little bit more so that Ase didn't have to. It wasn't as if there was anything I could do if he was picked, even if I wanted to volunteer.

Walking down the streets, I'm reminded of all the opportunities that I wasn't able to access due to my status in society. There were plenty of jobs here, jobs that weren't really accessible in many other parts of this district. Here, you could be a baker, a butcher, a seamstress. There was even a small blacksmith that made and repaired tools for you. This was one of the only areas where these jobs existed, and the majority of them were family-owned businesses that didn't want the help of a young upstart. I can still recall the days when I was sixteen, being turned away from these places as I had tried to pick up a part-time job, feeling despondent as the reality of my situation sunk in.

I mean, it would just be too easy if I could simply have asked for a job here, right? Thanks to my low status in society, getting a decent job anyway was difficult. It sure had been out of the question for me when I had really needed it; I hadn't even finished my education two years ago. No respectable employer wanted a young girl with no qualifications, especially not someone like it wasn't for me tearing down any credibility I had with others, my family would be worse off than they were now. I'm not saying that I kept my family alive all by myself - everyone helped out in their own ways in order to keep us comfortable - but Ase and my parents would probably have to go to bed hungry more often if I just sat back and did nothing. I might be able to relax a bit more, if my father hadn't been in a factory accident at one of the numerous factories that District Six were renowned for a few years ago. It's hardly a rare fate around here, but those few coins that my father had earned beforehand had made a difference, and the costs we had to pay for his treatment had hit us hard. Thank goodness he was still alive, although he was still in no shape to work and was largely reliant on us.

The aroma of fresh bread breaks me out of my daydreaming, and I stare hungrily at the bakery. There wasn't anything placed behind the window to attract customers; the promise of warm, baked bread was more of a hook than any fancy pastry placed on a platter. It just reminded me of how hungry I really was. I hadn't managed to glean a free meal from my last client, and I did have a little more money than usual. Why not indulge a little in having fresh bread for a change? Entering the store, I try not to look too awed at the displays set before me, instead glancing around with calculated glances before I smile at the shopkeeper. He gives me an odd look, assessing my unkempt appearance that didn't fit in with what most of the upper-classes of District Six looked like, but says nothing.

"Excuse me, may I buy this?" I ask the shopkeeper politely, gesturing to a few rolls of raisin and poppy-seed bread. Instead of nodding in assent, he just points to the price tag that was written on a slip of paper next to the loaves. On most days, I would have considered that too pricey to be worth it, but today happened to be a nice exception to this rule. The look of surprise on his face when I pass him the necessary amount over is almost enough to make me smile, but I'm good enough at covering my own emotions up to keep up my unassuming expression. Once he's handed over the bread rolls, I smile at him, politely thank him and leave before I overstay my visit.

...

"Althea! You're back again!" I hear my brother call, which provides the only warning I get before he collides into me, trying to wrap his skinny arms around my waist, "I've missed you!"

"Nice to see you too," I reply, ruffling his brown hair affectionately before stepping back and taking the wrapped parcel out of my pocket, "I got you this from my trip." Ase, like the rest of my family, remained unaware of where I had been or how I managed to get the few extra notes that I had done. He was slightly more clueless in the way that he didn't even know how close we all were to poverty. None of us were willing to spoil his childhood any earlier than we had to. Opening the still-warm parcel, I take out a roll and pass it to him.

He grins, his mood lifted by the small loaf of bread that I had been able to afford, before he takes a bite out of it. It might not be the best way of spending my money, but even Ase knew that you might as well splash out a little bit for Reaping Day; you never knew if today would be the last time you saw them, and you might as well try and put in the effort, right? I didn't want Ase's last memories to be of us sitting around the table in silence, looking miserable at the prospect of the Reaping. Well, I didn't want them to be my last memories of my family either, but it would no doubt be worse for Ase; it was his second Reaping, so he still wasn't entirely accustomed to the idea of them, "Thanks Althea. Where do you get these things, anyway? I can never find any fresh bread; not even the local baker's have any bread this good."

"Oh, well that would be telling," I reply vaguely, since I doubted that telling Ase that I had managed to buy it from the richer part of District Six due to my unofficial 'profession' would be a suitable answer for him, "And then I wouldn't be able to bribe you with it anymore if you knew where to get it." I tease.

"Aw," Ase looks disappointed for a second before he sticks his tongue out at me, "Could you tell me when I'm older, pretty please?"

Hopefully, Ase would never have to go through the same thing as me. I mean, it's not like I hate what I have to do to feed my family; sex was something that people did all the time, and it wasn't like I was being forced to or anything, but that didn't mean that I wanted Ase to follow in my footsteps. Although my way of obtaining money could be so much worse than my current job, I didn't really intend it to be a permanent thing. Once I had finished my studies in school, I would finally have the grades and experience needed to get a stable job. Really, this was only going to be temporary, "Maybe."

"Oh, Althea!" He quickly changes the subject, "Luke says there's a train rally happening soon, after the Reaping today! Can we go, pretty please?" He aims a winning smile at me.

"Sure." My enthusiasm at my day is dampened at the mention of the Reaping and the train rally that only existed so that we had to celebrate the Quell. The Capitol had insisted on holding a show with the finest hovercrafts and machinery District Six had created to show our 'support' for this. In reality, the event where you had to watch two children be led to their deaths was anything but cheery. Having a train rally to support the Games after the Reaping was just another sign of how the Capitol seemed to control us, but Ase didn't know this.

"Great!" He replies before dashing off next door, taking interest in the next thing that he liked. My smile fades when he's gone, and I slouch against the wall, thoughts of the Reaping flooding through my mind, and the woman's snide comment that haunted me like a ghost, bringing a sinister meaning to the already depressing Reaping.

_You're more trouble than you're worth, dear._

* * *

_**Tableyt Kohl, 17**_

**_District Six,_**

_Knock, knock, knock. _

_My knuckles rap against the old wooden door as I wait for a response. The old mayor was sick in his bed, incapable of going anywhere that was outside of his room, and everything he needed to keep on living had to be provided to him. Being the mayor though, this was hardly a problem to arrange. When I receive no reply, I cautiously creak the door open, being careful not to let the door squeak in protest lest the mayor hear me. It turns out that I didn't need to worry about that though, as the mayor was laid out in his bed like a mannequin, his body ravaged with sickness. Now, seeing him like this, it seems like the sickness he had been taken with had completely devoured him since the last time I had seen him. His skin was waxy and coated in a thin film of sweat, and he was worryingly still, like whatever spirit gave his body life had deserted him in his time of crisis. Tentatively, I place two fingers against his neck, checking for a pulse that was no longer there. Suddenly, my mind goes into overdrive as the implications of this hit me, and I tear open his shirt in order to restart his heart. My parents were doctors, so I knew the procedures that could help stimulate your heart and body into functioning for several hours until help arrived._

_He's dead, he died here, he's dead._

_It seems like I'm moving too slowly, like everything I do has been put into slow-motion. All I can think of is that the mayor - the father of my Julianna - might never come back if I don't act fast enough, and I know that I can never forgive myself if I let him die without doing everything I can to prevent this happening. However, the worst thing is still to come when I'm about to attempt to restart his heart. _

_He died here, he won't come back, he'll never come back._

_Suddenly, it's like everything else has to stand out to take my mind off the tragedy that had occurred here. The painted walls were too bright, moving and closing in on me as if they were trying to trap me at the scene of this crime, the clothes seem too garish and fake, the sun too bright and distracting to me, distorting my world into a kaleidoscope of colours. None of that matters though, the____ only thing that I can comprehend is the knife embedded in his chest. He didn't fall quietly into Death's arms, he had been stabbed in the heart. The _red that was starting to cover the man like a shroud writhed around when I focused on it. All I had to do was take out this knife and maybe then I could make sense of how the mayor had died, if it was a suicide or if someone had intentionally snuffed out his life.  


_"What are you doing?"_

_Those four words are enough for me to turn around and drop the knife, looking guiltily into the eyes of Julianna. Her face is the picture of betrayal as she stares, wide-eyed, at the knife that had been buried in her father's chest. The knife that I was now holding. It quickly dawns on me what this might look like to Julianna; a girl who had always judged others based on the first thing she noticed about them. She thinks I killed him. Her eyes dart between the unnaturally still body of her father and me, daring to take quick glances at one before she couldn't cope and had to look away.  
_

_"It-It's not what it looks like, I sw-swear," I manage to get out, dropping the knife to the floor with a jarring clatter and backing away. Me and Julianna were supposed to be in love. We had been dating, anyway. At the very least she should try and hear me out, but wherever it's because of her fear making her irrational or just Julianna's grief for her father overwhelming her, she doesn't._

_"You bastard!" Julianna snarls, not making any eye contact with me and just shoots daggers at the curtain that was behind me, "You - You killed him! Wh-why?" She breaks off on a sob as she collapses against the wardrobe near the door, unable to cope with the sudden loss of her father. Julianna hadn't even known about the fact that he had been so close to dying anyway; either she had been oblivious to or just chosen to blissfully ignore the warning signs that showed her father was sick, and now she was paying the price. Subconsciously wanting to comfort Julianna like I always had done, I reach towards her, wanting to envelope her in a hug and reassure her that she would be okay and everything would eventually be fine. I don't even make it two steps before her head whips up.  
_

_"Get out!" She screams, tears streaming down her face, "Just get out! How could you do this to him?"_

_"Julianna - " I start, throwing up my hands defensively, trying to get her to see reason for a few seconds so that I could explain how I hadn't hurt him, but she seemed beyond reason as she flinched away, hands pressed against the wall.  
_

_"Stay away, I never did anything to you!" Julianna then decides to look up at me, and the look in her eyes makes me feel isolated from her. There's no affection or love in her eyes, only carnal fear at what she thinks I'm capable of. The only thing was, I didn't kill her father, I swear I didn't. Why couldn't she believe me, she can't have really loved me if she won't listen..._

_Suddenly, anger at the way that she treated me kicks in, and I snap at her, "Will you just listen for once? He was already dead when I found him. Why won't you believe me?"  
_

_"Just get out!" Julianna shouts, "Go away, don't you ever, ever come back! I'll have you for this! Just go!"_

_Those words are enough to disrupt my entire world, the colours melting together into different scenes, different, older versions of me and Julianna warring as we both try to overcome the new barriers that now separated both of us. No longer were we the cute, charming pair that had won over everybody as the district's pair of teenage sweethearts. The adult world had spoiled that far too soon._

_"This is all your fault, Tableyt! You're just lucky that I remember what you used to do for me!" She had screamed at me as she thrown a necklace with a grey, heart-shaped locket on it._

_"Maybe if you weren't such a judgmental brat, you might actually find out what happened!" I had shouted back at her, earning me a round of obscenities in return._

_"When it comes to voting, you're going to be the first person that I'll pick. I won't be the only one you picks you."_

_"I can do a lot worse than that, Julianna." This thinly-veiled threat just ends up with me having the door slammed in my face, but she didn't close it fast enough for me to miss the expression of fear that crosses her face. She's scared of me, still is.  
_

"I hate you!"

It takes a second for me to realise that I'm not dreaming anymore, and that I no longer have to relive the jumble of events that had ended up with me in this position. Opening my eyes, I'm faced with the spiderweb cracks spread across the ceiling that I'm so familiar with from staring at them when I was a child. Here I am, lying in this bed that I can't even claim as my own anymore. Technically, it was mine, but since my parents had practically disowned me ever since my 'murder' of Mayor Dubeck had been discovered, I had to sneak in here just so that my own parents wouldn't discover my presence and scorn me for my actions. Everybody had presumed that my motives for killing the previous mayor had been ones of ambition; I had been close enough to the mayor that people had started to name me as his next successor when he died. Of course, that had flown out of the window once people thought I had killed him, but it had been a long, long path of deceit and revenge before it had gotten to that point. A path that had been fueled by the residents of District Six and the rumours they had made that had caused my downfall. Every last one of them deserved hell for what they had dragged me through, and one day, I would personally exact my vengeance on whoever had been instrumental in wrecking havoc on my life.

The sounds of more shouting distracts me from my plans of revenge - plans that have yet to be created. My parents were too busy arguing about something downstairs to allow me to think, which is enough for me to add another reason as to why my parents deserved to suffer for deserting me.

"Not even they supported me after the 'truth' came out," I mutter to myself, feeling angry at this injustice. They had believed a ditzy, bratty daughter of the ex-mayor over their own _son_, completely disregarding every nice, kind thing I had ever done in the past sixteen or so years before this event. That was enough of an insult for me to harbor resentful feelings towards them. That they had decided to bicker and pollute the silence with their pointless words was just an extra.

On the plus side, their arguing made it easier for me to slip out of this house undetected. Naturally, they didn't know that I regularly slept in one of the few spare rooms they maintained, and I didn't plan on today on being an exception to this. Straightening the sheets, I shove the hood over my head. There wasn't much point in getting changed out of the warm hooded jumper I wore to sleep with, but I do put on some jeans. The clothes I wore were far too casual for someone as wealthy as me, but why should I bother getting dressed up for the Capitol? They were just as bad as District Six; not a single honest thought existed in a Capitolite's head and they took joy out of backstabbing each other and glorifying themselves as role models. They saw themselves as heroes, yet didn't spare a thought to those suffering outside of the perfect little spheres that made up their lives. Basically, just like the people in District Six.

For all the Capitol liked to believe they were superior to the districts, they still behaved in exactly the same way as them.

...

The light drizzle doesn't bother me. It barely does more than settle on the surface of the hooded sweatshirt that I wear, but it seems to make some of the others waiting alongside me squint and mutter to themselves about how miserable the weather is. Good; every last person here deserved to be miserable for what they did to me. Just look at them, standing there all happy and confident in the fact that at least they won't be chosen this year, because they had decided to pin the blame on me instead. In fact, I wouldn't be half-surprised if this was all part of some conspiracy, so that District Six had an obvious candidate for the job of picking a boy for the Games. _Everybody_ knew that the good, noble, kind citizens here couldn't possibly condemn an innocent child to this fate. I mean, they did that indirectly _every other year_ but hey, as long as they didn't actually choose, then it was all fine, eh? So, they decided to use me as an easy scapegoat to resolve the decision, so theoretically, District Six weren't dooming a promising child. No, why would they have to when they had me, the nice boy that suddenly, drastically turned into a killer out of ambition? Ha, it was a joke.

Sabril's white hair was saturated with water and hung limply around her shoulders as she walks over to the bowl, trying to look cheery regardless of her ruined clothes, "Hello, District Six! Now, let's keep it short this year and start with your female tribute, hmm? And maybe we'll get a bit more luck with her than we did with our two darlings last year?"

Last year's tributes had been pathetic, although since both had probably mocked me before their deaths, they should be weak. Nobody who spurned me deserved to live in comfort, and they weren't an exception. I had personally been insulted by the rude twelve year old boy, Jakob, and the girl had been malnourished, socially inept and had been horribly mistreated, judging by her scars. Coming from here, she had most likely heard of me and my 'actions' and therefore didn't deserve my sympathy; she had probably just been another one of the self-absorbed girls that had shunned me. I can hear angry murmurings about how cruelly Sabril had dismissed the two children she had chosen last year, but she remains unaffected as she opens the slip.

"Althea Kayson."

There's several inquires asking as to who this girl actually was, which I have to share. I had just presumed that District Six would have targeted a girl to be chosen as they had obviously done to me, but that was clearly not the case. Had they thrown me aside as a potential victor so this girl would stand a better chance? Because if they had, then they were going to be sorely disappointed when I killed her. It was nothing against her specifically - she hadn't done anything to me directly - but she was the epitome of the arrogant, self-assured District Six citizen that I despised, and I had to destroy her to ascertain my superiority.

"Excuse me, may I reach the stage, please?" A voice asks politely, and I turn to see a tall girl with a riot of red curls and a soaked grey dress gently push her way through the throng of the eighteen year old girls to reach the stage. A prideful determination has replaced her once-shocked expression as she slowly and calmly walks up to the stage. Her clenched jaw told me that she was stubbornly refusing to cry in front of everyone. How typical of District Six to never want to show weakness. People here were so proud of the dumbest things, and it didn't help in the long run. To the casual observer, she seemed to have resigned herself to this fate, which was just as well. To her, this _would_ be a death sentence. If I was coming in with her, then at least I could guarantee that no poor District Six scum like her would be coming out alive again. Her blue eyes are placid and accepting as she stands next to Sabril, who takes in the girl's slender frame and unkempt beauty with a critical eye. Looks like Miss Kayson has Sabril's approval. Even I had to admit that Althea's age and looks would work in her favour.

Sabril blows Althea a kiss before opening the last name. My name.

"Tableyt Kohl." She looks confused at these two words before she rolls her eyes, "Oh, how lovely. A district-related name." She grumbles to herself, although the microphone misses nothing. Nobody seems surprised at this though, since Sabril rarely tried to be charming at the Reapings.

Oh, and there was so much to be surprised at, obviously. I mean, I never would have guessed that the supposed killer of the mayor would have _ever_ been chosen out of everyone. It was so very shocking, wasn't it? Rolling my eyes, I yank off the hood that had disguised my identity to the other boys in my section, letting everyone see me now, "Well done!" I mockingly congratulate the boys who were giving me smug expressions, probably thinking that they had seen the last of me, "You've sent me to my death. I can't wait until you're all older and the truth is revealed!"

That statement worked on the presumption that I would actually be around when people realised that I had never killed anybody, I think as I stroll up to the stage casually, kicking several pebbles at anybody who dared to laugh at me while I did so. It had always been a fantasy of mine to witness everybody's attitudes changing again when new evidence came in proving that I was innocent, but that seemed unlikely now. Well, it wasn't impossible though, and I wasn't someone that gave up under difficult odds.

Looking down at everybody's content faces, I feel a sense of vicious satisfaction. They thought they were so clever. I had broken District Six's precious rules and they had sent me to my death as a result, and if I wanted to survive, that meant that District Six benefited from my victory as well, since it was the place I had been born. Well, I didn't plan on these Games working out like that, not with District Six being well-fed for a change. No, if I won, then District Six wouldn't be an extra coin richer.

They thought I would represent them after everything they had done to me? We'll see who has the last laugh.

* * *

**And the Reapings are finally done! Next up, the Capitol chapters. They'll be around the same length, but there will be more POVs per chapter so that every character features a few times.  
**

**Not too much else to say here, aside from tell me if there's any errors and I'll fix them. Oh, and leave a review and tell me your five favourite tributes (and why), possibly? I would love to know your opinions ;)**


	15. Only One Way Out - Train Rides

Quell it with Fire

The First Quarter Quell

Train Rides

**_Prodigy Avenue, 17_**

**_District One,_**

Finally, I am now heading off to the Capitol.

I mean, the Capitol's way of life was no more than I deserved - naturally - but the fact it was happening now was enough to improve my mood. To be honest, I wasn't awed by the plush carpeting or the elegant colour scheme of the train; it was only a small fraction of what the Capitol was really like, and it wasn't a massive step up from my district. Not like that was a bad thing though, since everybody knew that District One were quite simply the best district of the lot, but I just happened to aspire for the jewel in the crown; the Capitol. That city was _the_ epitome of success in Panem, and success was something that I deserved. Luckily, it looked like I would get the chance to prove my right to live here for the rest of my life after I won.

Admittedly, I hadn't actually invested much of my time into the Games, since maintaining my looks had been a higher priority, but I knew perfectly well that I would win. I had prepared for it, so why wouldn't I? Not to mention that the Capitol would never let someone as attractive as me die one of the less sanitary deaths you saw in the Games, unlike some of the other tributes. Speaking of, my mentor had said that I should watch the recaps of the other contestants, but really, there was nothing exciting about watching them. Why should I waste my precious time watching bratty children throw a fit over the fact that they had been picked; it was obvious all of them would die soon anyway, and how did you learn anything from seeing them cry as they were dragged up to the stage?

"Do you think the other pets will be fun, Fluffy? You're cute and all, but there might be other friends to play with in the games!" The squeal that follows this tells me that I've wandered around the train to my district partner's room. I use that term lightly, by the way; the fact that this savage was associated with me was an insult to myself. At least I maintained an appropriate level of hygiene, unlike this girl.

What was even more worrying was the fact that she was representing District One alongside me. The girl who had been covered in dried rabbit blood for the Reaping, who couldn't brush her own hair, was being showcased with me. If I wasn't careful, then Crimson would completely scupper the reputation that had already been besmirched last year with Tanner and Rhine. However, those two had been relatively attractive, so that had worked in their favour. Crimson, on the other hand, would ruin me if I didn't show everyone that she was just the extra that District One had brought with me, that she wasn't really fighting for District One, but was there as an easy kill to help _me_ win the Games.

Another set of giggles convinces me to open the chestnut brown door that obliquely hid what Crimson was doing. The buzzing of flies greets me as I take in the sight of the cream silk sheets smeared with mud and flecks of dried blood and a lump of unidentifiable crap nestled on the girl's lap. Crimson, ignoring my arrival as opposed to worshiping me like she was supposed to, pokes the lump again, "Aw, you want to go to sleep? I'll sing you to sleep, okay." She starts to sing a tune, but the notes are horribly off-key and after a very short period of time, I have to interject.

"Crimson, what _are_ you talking to?" I can't hide the revulsion in my voice.

She giggles as she turns around, revealing a bit more of the rotting, fetid thing that she was cradling. Even from where I was standing, I could see the dried blood and the flies that were hovering around it. I already knew that my district partner didn't have a concept of fashion, but this was undeniably creepy.

Crimson adapts a surprised expression, "Oh, him? This is Fluffy, my pet rabbit. Isn't he cute?" She whispers as she pinches the patches of orange-red fur that were supposed to be 'his' cheeks, cooing quietly to the thing, "Don't wake him up though. He's sleeping. I've only had him for a few days, but I love him already."

I have to turn away as I catch a whiff of what both Crimson and...and Fluffy smell like. Just imagining the germs and contagion that might be hanging around the two of them was enough to make me back away. Was I really expected to ally with her? She probably couldn't even fight properly; too busy waltzing around and singing like the little demon she was. It was evident that I was the one my district expected to win above all. After everything I had done for them - namely, existing - they surely would rate me higher than the nutcase that I would have never allowed to be in my presence otherwise.

"You are going to bin that soon, right?" I ask, although this ends up being a bad idea as Crimson drops the rabbit carcass and launches herself at me, knocking me to the floor while I was taken off-guard. She grabs my collar and tries to shake me by the head.

"No! Fluffy is my best friend, and I'm never leaving him! How could you say such a thing?" She was even more disgraceful up close, a decaying stench creeping around her like fog and she sported yellowish talons for fingernails. Her teeth weren't much better, although the fact that I was close enough to see them was cause for alarm. Disgusted by her and her sloppy attack, I shove her off and stand up, wiping the dirt and whatever germs she had been hosting off my clothes. This thing should be glad that she hadn't tried to attack me before the cameras could see me.

"Don't touch me again," I reply tetchily, glaring at her as I back away to find the nearest shower. Although I didn't have a problem with teaching Crimson a lesson, attacking your own district partner was something dishonourable in District One, and there was no way that I was going to go against those rules when it was so obvious my district partner wouldn't do the same. Someone had to show Panem that District One meant business, and my training meant that I could easily follow the rules my district had set without risking my chances of success.

It was obvious that I was going to win anyway, so why bother to cheat?

* * *

**_Promethium "Rome" Tundra, 17 _**

**_District Five,_**

No matter how ridiculous I found them, I had to admit that the Capitol did put on quite the show of opulence.

That's all it was, mind you. A show that disguised the problems that the Capitol must have. Initially, I had been stunned into silence by the wide range of food and colour and entertainment that was so readily available just on the train, but once the novelty had worn off a bit, I realised just why the Capitol was like this. It wasn't because they were so much better than us by chance, or that they actually made the products they used and threw aside so abhorrently. No, they got this from the hard work of the districts. Every last thing here had the fingerprints of a worker that had suffered poverty and poor pay on it, and it was maddening that the districts had to work so hard just for the Capitol's folly.

Clearly, Paraiba did not seem to share the same doubts that I harbored towards the food, having scraped the cream off a dessert that I didn't recognise and smeared it across her upper lip, giving herself a white mustache. Noticing my blank expression, she pulls a silly face and sticks her tongue out at me.

"Why so sker-aired?" She asks, stretching out the last word before speaking in a perky voice, "Like, you haven't got much to fear except fear itself, as they say!"

I guess some people might presume her question to be quite stupid, seeing as we were both heading off to the Games, but I interpreted her exaggerated way of asking me as an attempt to lighten up the situation we were in. With this in mind, I smile back at her, "Of _course_ I haven't. Just have the trained kids, the psychopaths and criminals that might have been chosen, the prospect of being mocked at the chariot rides tonight, the Gamemakers that have made it their job to try and kill us, mutts that people have spent thousands on just to kill us horribly and the general feeling of impending doom to worry about, but aside from that, just fear."

Paraiba just shrugs, "You get free cake." As if to prove her point, she takes a giant bite out of the spongy dessert that she had taken the cream off, making no attempts to clean her face that had been smeared in cream and crumbs.

"You do know where the Capitol get that from, right? How they actually manage to make it?" I press, wondering how Paraiba could happily ignore this. I didn't mean to judge, but her clothes didn't look like the type that the well-off in District Five wore, meaning that Paraiba probably had her fair share of hardship. Unless she just didn't like wearing well-made clothes; who knew? If I had been taught anything in District Five, it was that first impressions and appearances meant very, very little.

"Yeah, who doesn't?" She speaks through the cake she's still eating carelessly, "Everybody knows that you mix sugar, flour, margarine and eggs together before shoving it in an oven. Not like I've ever done it, but it can't be that hard."

I clap sarcastically, the harsh, dry sound sounding eerily loud with just the whirring of the train transporting us away from District Five to the Capitol. She knew perfectly well that I didn't mean that, but I drop the subject, getting the impression that dwelling on it didn't fly well with Paraiba, "Wow, I'm truly blown away at the precision and care you take with your baking. Looks like you know what you're doing with cooking."

"Thank you, thank you," Paraiba mock-curtseys, "Your kind words are so touching." She turns back to her cake, leaving me to brood over my surroundings in silence.

I ignore the rest of the buffet that had been set out just for me, Paraiba, our escort and whoever was mentoring us, focusing on a simple bowl that was filled to the brim with cherries, no doubt from District Eleven. Just imagine all the manual work that must have gone into producing this, and it was wasted on a pointless feast like this that served no practical purpose. Oh, and after we had finished, all of it would be disposed of. What a waste. All the same, it was quite tempting to take a few. After all, I might as well eat it, right? Nobody else would get the chance to, and being wasteful of food wasn't something that my family had ever looked upon highly.

_Isn't that what this is all about, Rome?_ The thought comes unbidden to me in my mind. _Being tempted by the Capitol by their luxurious ways so that you support them to your grave? Is that what you really want?_

On second thoughts, no, I wouldn't eat it. I refused to indulge myself on the Capitol's scraps, not when they had only given me these treats to distract me from the true reality of what they had planned for me. It might not make a difference, it might end up in my death, but I was probably going to die anyway. There's no real point in playing along.

"Oh dearest Promethium," Paraiba suddenly whirls into action, grabbing one of the cherries I had been staring at and kneeling down in front of me on one knee, "I must confess, I have a proposition to ask of you. From the moment I have met you, I realised that you were the one, and I have been able to think of nothing else since meeting you ten minutes ago. Rome, will you," she pauses for a moment as she breathes in dramatically, swiping her free hand across her forehead before lifting the cherry towards me, "Will you be my ally?"

Well, that hadn't been how I envisioned getting an alliance together, but it wasn't as if I had any reason to say no. Besides, Paraiba had also been ousted by her district, much like me, and she hadn't immediately started to insult my intelligence. Not to mention that she was trying to keep a positive attitude in the face of this radical change in her life. As far as allies went, she was a pretty good choice, "Alright then."

* * *

**_Badger Willis, 16 _**

**_District Ten,_**

"This year is going to be just fabulous!" Fausta, the announcer for the Games, grins at the screen, "When all the districts would have voted for their strongest or most reviled tributes, you're sure to have an interesting batch this year. Stay tuned with me, Fausta Vermont, as we catch our very first preview of this year's tributes!"

Behind her, the scene of District One's reapings plays out. To the surprise of nobody, the male tribute seems arrogant and self-assured as he strode up to the stage, looking very pleased with himself. It's the girl that's a real surprise though. With her matted red hair, lack of height and her horrifying appearance, she was the opposite of the pretty, lethal killers District One usually were.

Fausta, not having to fear the prospect of facing this girl, looks pleased alongside her fellow colleague, Varina Valens, "Looks like we have two interesting tributes this year. Just look at how confident Prodigy is, and Crimson will most definitely provide a few entertaining deaths in the arena with the way she looks, don't you think, Varina?"

What horrible, selfish people these two were, talking about Crimson as if her only purpose in life was to amuse the commentators before being killed. The implication that Crimson had no value outside of that was infuriating to me.

Two doesn't surprise anyone either, with two confident-looking, muscular kids being chosen, although I flinch when the male tribute, Riley-Iron, is involved in a fight.

"Looks like we have a victor's relative here," our mentor comments dryly, managing to speak before Fausta could comment on this fact, "Riley-Iron Holt is the son of Solan, the victor of the Seventh Games. If his son is anything like Solan, you'll have a stronger competitor than usual."

Great, just what I needed, "How did this Solan guy win then?" I ask tentatively.

"He killed his allies earlier than usual, reducing the number of threats he faced significantly, and didn't let anything or anyone else stop him," the Capitol mentor answers in a monotone. It wasn't as if District Ten had never had a victor or anything, but the only girl that had won - Signet Cytal - had ended up taking her own life. Rumour had it in District Ten that she had killed herself during the interviews, but I hadn't been around for the Games she had won to see live footage, and the Capitol never replayed any of the interviews of the Fifth Games that Signet had won.

I guess the fact that she couldn't live with herself after the Games was a warning sign as to what might happen to me if I ever won, although the chances of me surviving that long were pretty low anyway. If I wasn't careful, I might end up going mad, or just completely lose my temper one day and be pushed over the edge into insanity. I didn't want that to happen to me.

"She shouldn't be here," Arya blurts outs suddenly, watching the District Three reapings where a small, wide-eyed girl was trying her best to look calm with her life being flipped upside-down. Anger kindled inside of me as I watched the impassive faces of her fellow citizens; they had purposely chosen a thirteen year old girl to die in the Games. This was even worse than witnessing a small child be reaped. This time, her district had directly condemned this girl to die. Out of every single person that might have a better chance in the Games, they picked this girl, Peyton. District Three follow this up with literally dragging a boy to the stage, the Peacekeepers ignoring the horrible yowling sounds he was making.

The announcers don't help my rage to dissipate either, "Oh, well I guess we couldn't expect too much from District Three," Varina looks bored at the fact that this girl and her fellow victim would most likely die, "They haven't had a victor in ages, and this year won't be any different."

Arya notices my anger and looks away, retreating back into the shell she had carved for herself as her burst of confidence deserts her. She does little more than observe the two fiery-looking District Four tributes walk up to the stage, and although the boy doesn't look very pleased with being chosen, I don't doubt his ability to be a threat.

District Five don't seem to be that threatening, although my eyes widen in disbelief when the girl volunteers for herself so casually to annoy the escort. I couldn't tell what they had done to accumulate the most votes in their district. Both of them seemed to be decent people, but then again, that wasn't enough to save you. I know that I had done bad things in my past, that I was capable of hurting those around me, but it had been an accident. I hadn't wanted to kill him, and I hadn't enjoyed it, either then or now. Surely I could still be considered a decent person, right?

Fausta and Varina both look unimpressed with this mocking of the Quarter Quell by Paraiba, the girl, but say nothing. Their apparent bad moods are not improved by the male that is chosen. He didn't look like much compared to Prodigy, but he still seemed strong enough to have a chance.

Fausta just sniffs, "Shouldn't have expected much from a district like Five either. If both continue to be this rude and weak, then I wouldn't recommend sponsoring these two, folks."

It's that statement that manages to ignite the fury that had been boiling away inside of me at how incredibly prejudiced this year's Games were, making me lash out instinctively at the nearest object to me. I end up sending a vase flying halfway across the room to disintegrate into dozens of pieces among the carpeted floor. The crystal shards wink at me in the light, seemingly mocking me for losing control over my base emotions.

Fausta's voice is just background sound now as she continues to dehumanise those condemned to this death sentence and talk about the other children like they aren't equal to her, that they shouldn't even be considered human. In Fausta's eyes, the Capitol were _so_ much better than the districts, weren't they? No district citizen could ever be anywhere near as 'reasonable' as someone bred here. To the Capitol, we're just savages; inferior beings that had no purpose beyond labour and entertainment. Our histories, families, memories, they meant nothing, because we were going to die soon.

Me and Arya aren't people here. We're just puppets.

* * *

**_River Callero, 17 _**

**_District Nine,_**

"Do you like the Capitol so far, Miss Callero?" One of the two District Nine victors, Doe Wicker, inquires neutrally, "Most tributes I mentor detest it, for some reason. I hope you'll have more common sense than them, am I right in presuming?"

I shrug, not taking my eyes off the scenery rushing past outside. There was something unsettling about watching the buildings and the smog that hung over what I presumed to be District Three blur into smears of charcoal grey as we passed by, "Who cares about them?"

It wasn't like I had said that to antagonise Doe or anything; why would you give a crap about them? There's no point in hating them - or wasting any of your time thinking about the Capitol - because it wasn't as if your opinions actually affected anything, so why bother? If you didn't live there, then hating the Capitol was useless, and those people that thought the Capitol could be destroyed like that were deluded. Well, as long as I wasn't on the bandwagon of those that were doomed to be executed by the Capitol's assassins, then it wasn't my problem.

Doe looks shocked by my casual dismissal of the Capitol. I suppose the way that the Capitol had spoiled her with wealth and attention since her Games had managed to go to her head. She seemed a lot more enthused with the Capitol than our second victor, who had yet to make an appearance, "Please excuse my abruptness, but how can you say such a thing? If it wasn't for the Capitol, we would all be suffering profusely in the chaos that would erupt without a strong government."

"How poetic of you," I reply dully, commenting on the pretentious language that she used when speaking, "Ever consider a career in writing?"

She taps the heel of her shoe against the floor impatiently, "Miss Callero, you had better not behave like you are now during the interviews, or - "

"I'm sure that River here has more important things to worry about than if she offends the Capitol," Lynx interjects snidely from the other side of the main room of the District Nine carriage, barely sparing me a second glance as he looks at his mother, "Like dealing with me, for starters."

I turn around so that I'm facing Lynx directly, "Yes, clearly you are the greatest threat to my life, and obviously, I'm such a shrinking violet that I'll never be able to beat you. Oh deary me, how ever will I manage?"

He looks sceptical as he assesses my thin, unassuming build and underweight appearance, "I can actually cope in the wild and have experience with a bow and arrows. What can _you_ do?"

Did he seriously just tell me what his strengths were? How stupid could you be to do that? Unless he was lying and was expecting me to show off what I could do instead. Well, I wasn't going to fall for his trap, "You think I'm seriously going to tell you? Unlike you, I'm smart enough to keep my abilities a secret, thanks."

"So? Why would I care if you know what I can do?" He sneers, "It's not going to make you any more capable of beating me. All it does it warn you to stay out of my way, and don't think for a second that I'll ally with or help you in the arena, because I won't."

"Lynx Wicker!" Doe gasps, her formal, proper facade gone as she promptly forgets me and chooses to scold her son, "You can't threaten your district partner like that! How do you ever expect to even survive past the bloodbath acting like you are now?"

"Forgive me for reminding you, but didn't you tell me that I had no chance of escaping the bloodbath regardless of what I do?" Lynx didn't look particularly bothered by this obvious dismissal by his mother, "And Wicker isn't my last name anymore, _Mother_." He puts venomous emphasis on the last word, practically spitting it out. It's not much, but it's something that throws me off a little. This was probably the first sign of real emotion I've seen from Lynx aside from his rude, sarcastic attitude.

"You don't have a chance of winning anyway, but I figured that you might appreciate some advice before you go and get yourself killed," she replies in a sickeningly sweet voice, her lips curving upwards into a smile that doesn't reach her cold eyes. Clearly, there was a lot of love and affection between these two, and it was _blatantly_ obvious that Doe would be biased towards her son.

Lynx shrugs, having regained his apathetic front, "Whatever, I'm done here. I doubt I'll learn anyway from an airhead Capitol lover like you anyway." And when Lynx walks out through the automatic train doors, I follow him. I'm not interested in forging an alliance with him, or with anyone, for that matter, but I am curious about why he doesn't have a last name.

"Just wondering, why isn't your last name Wicker? Even the escort didn't mention it when he read out your name."

He sighs in exasperation and looks back at me, "I know you're not particularly bright, and this probably wouldn't occur to you without help," he says, not managing to get even that sentence out without throwing in an insult, "But sharing a last name with a person related to you implies that you're bonded with them, and let me assure you, that woman isn't - and will never be - associated with me in any way. She's no mother."

"Really? And here I was thinking that you were the splitting image of her," I pretend to look shocked while Lynx gives me a dirty look, "What did she even do to you, anyway?"

He hesitates, as if debating over how much he should tell me, "She won the Games," he settles for this succinct answer after the silence between us has stretched out for several seconds, "She should have died with all the other victors." With this, he continues walking away without so much as a farewell.

Initially, I decide to follow and berate him for hating his mother for that reason. It wasn't as if Doe had volunteered for the Games, so she hadn't asked to be in the Games, and besides, Lynx might not even be alive if she hadn't won. However, I got the impression that Lynx wouldn't appreciate me snooping around his motives for anything, even if he was remarkably open with his history. Although Lynx didn't seem interested in wherever I knew about the tense relationship he held with his mother and didn't seem to be trying too hard to please the Capitol, I figured that he still wanted to survive, which didn't involve giving me an impression of how his mind worked. And if I wanted to beat him, I had to follow suit.

* * *

**_Peyton Wyre, 13 _**

**_District Three,_**

"Why is your wig gold?"

The escort, Bryn, turns to me, his face softening when he sees it's only me, "It's fashionable, dear."

"Yeah, but why is gold fashionable right now?" I ask as I observe the red-haired girl and the smirking boy from District Six accept some applause as they stand on the stage. Both were good-looking, or would be if they weren't soaked from the rain in their district, and seemed fine with the fact they had been chosen. Had they presumed they would have been picked beforehand?

"Well, traditionally, gold has been used in celebrations. Naturally, I would want to support the first Quarter Quell; it's a monumental occasion." Bryn replies, gesturing to the next district that had produced two capable-looking tributes. The boy was tall and imposing while the girl's sharp brown eyes held an intelligent spark in them, "The tributes this year are going to make history. You should be proud to take part in such an event."

I thought calling the Twenty-Fifth Games 'monumental' and saying this year would 'make history' was a bit of a stretch. Surely there must have been more outstanding things achieved in history other than the event where twenty three kids die being created, but I don't say this. In fact, I don't want to think about the fact I had been chosen at all, so I divert the topic to safer territory, "So, you believe in traditional methods then?" Before he can answer, I interject with my own opinion, "Personally, I think that modern ways are better. If you're going to make advancements in technology and industry, then why not improve the political methods and how society functions? It could be a lot more efficient if you didn't cling to traditions."

"If you did that, dear Peyton, then you would be disregarding the achievements of our ancestors. It's paramount that we respect and remember them in the way that society works today." Bryn counters.

"Speaking of, how does our history affect us today? In District Three, we were never taught much about what happened before Panem was around. Are you taught that in the Capitol?" History - like maths and science - had always fascinated me, although to a lesser degree than aforementioned subjects. With science, events worked according to specific sets of rules, and all you had to do was memorise and apply them to problems. History, however, was more open to interpretation, but it was also more susceptible to being altered by those in power.

He looks conflicted on wherever or not to confide in me about his Capitol education - something I hadn't been granted access to - but then relents, "Once upon a time," Bryn starts off in a voice barely higher than a whisper, sounding like he's telling me a bedtime story, "There was a place where Panem now thrives called America. And in America, everybody had enough food, drink and entertainment. Hardly anybody really suffered back then, and everybody was looked after."

"Surely that's better than what happens now?" I inquire politely, knowing this was my cue to ask him to elaborate. In reality, I hadn't formed a judgement yet, knowing that presuming 'America' was better than Panem was silly when I had lived in District Three all my life and had only heard one sentence about this ancient relic of a country.

"Oh, you think so?" He ruffles my frizzy brown hair, "I thought the same thing too when I was your age. However, that was how America collapsed. There just weren't enough resources for everybody to have what they wanted, and in the end, nobody won. That's why it's a good thing that Panem is set out this way, so that the ones that help contribute to society can be rewarded."

The logic that Bryn was advocating sounded a lot like propaganda; words that the Capitol drilled into their citizens' heads so that they accepted the information despite the flawed logic behind it. How did one adjudicate who 'contributed' to society enough to live here? And the way that the Capitol worked seemed highly elitist in this respect, which was an illogical way of structuring your society.

In the corner, Kiba looks enthralled by our conversation, looking between the two of us as our conversation developed. For some reason, he seemed captivated by the fact that we could communicate, although he hadn't made any contributions towards the conversation. Actually, he had been very quiet on the way to the train. Maybe he didn't like to talk? On closer observation, there was something in the way Kiba swallowed, something about the extra effort it took for him to do so, that informed me on the possibility that he might not talk for a more sinister reason.

"Are you okay?" I ask, deciding that I would sound too obtuse towards his emotions if I outright asked him if he could talk or not.

He just nods, the movement performed with more energy than was required.

"You don't talk much, do you?" I remark, "I mean, that's not a bad thing. I don't really talk that much either. Well, sometimes I ramble on a little bit, but I don't think that happens a lot," Kiba just shakes his head in a melodramatic manner, moving a few strands of light brown hair out of his face in the process, and revealing a small, light red pockmark in his cheek. He then points to his throat several times, looking unhappy, "Wait, you can't talk at all?"

He shakes his head morosely before regaining some of his seemingly positive nature and smiling at me. This action doesn't prepare me in any way at all for what he does next. Jumping up off the couch he was sprawled across, he sprints over to me and envelopes me in a rib-crushing hug. Automatically, I react to this invasion of my personal space and squirm in his grip, and after a few seconds, he lets go.

"Was that really necessary?" I try and say lightly, but he slinks back slightly, worry forming creases in his forehead - possibly due to the prospect of displeasing me - as he eyes me nervously, "I mean, it's fine and all, but some warning might be nice." Kiba's mood perks up, his previously agitated mood gone. What I had found out about Kiba was that he didn't seem to stay stuck in a particular mood for very long, and that his emotions changed too quickly for me to keep up. Right now, everything seemed just spectacular in his world as he bounced up and down in his seat.

It was too bad that the logic behind this world didn't work in that way, wasn't it?

* * *

**_Velvet Red, 12 _**

**_District Eight,_**

"Look at good old District Eight," Astoria mutters to herself, glowering at the television that was showcasing the positive reaction that our reaping had accumulated. There had been a fair bit of applause for the District Six tributes, Althea and Tableyt, but that couldn't hold a candle to the cheers that me and Astoria had received. I couldn't really care less about what District Eight thought of me. In fact, I would rather set the entire district alight if it meant that I didn't have to work to gain their approval.

Astoria, for some reason, has declared herself to be superior to everybody else in District Eight and feels that she is somehow better than the others because she's in the Games. I think I would have preferred a terrified, scared girl that I could have played with before she died to Astoria. At least the usual District Eight weakling would be affected by my words and my actions, "Bet they're glad to be rid of us. District Eight doesn't care about trying to help one of us survive; they just want us gone. Everyone there is corrupt."

"That includes you," I point out, earning me a glare from Astoria. If she was expecting that to deter me, then she was going to be very disappointed, "You're just as hypocritical and judgmental as the rest of them. It's really not a good trait, you know." My calm exterior, so different from the boy she met earlier today, seems to disturb her as she eyes me warily.

"Like your opinion means so much to me," Astoria snarls, although I can tell that she doesn't like being compared to District Eight in any way possible. It was one of the few things we had in common, "You deserve to be in these Games. You'll fit right in."

"And you wouldn't?" I reply, not taking any offense at what she thought was an insult. It was true that I did have some experience of what people trying to kill you was like, not in large groups like the trained children in the Games, but I had dealt with the occasional stranger who felt it was their duty to the dead mayor to get rid of me. The mayor had never kept his animosity towards me a secret and those that were almost fanatically loyal to him felt that I should die as penance for killing the previous mayor myself, "I'm sure that you'd do well. Truly, the stealth that you demonstrated so excellently today when you attempted to break into my house would come in handy, would it not?"

Her face twists into a scowl at my sarcasm, which only makes me chuckle to myself. I take back my previous sediments; it was so easy to wind Astoria up, it seemed. If I continued at this rate, then she'd be dead before the end of Day Two. I still didn't know why she detested me so much - even before I had knocked her out - but I wasn't really that interested. Point was that she had threatened me and my mother, so she needed to suffer the consequences. Wasn't it brilliant that it would be orchestrated on television? Really, Astoria should be glad that the Games would start so soon, because I had no qualms about killing her now, regardless of what the Capitol thought they could do to me.

"Of course it will," she replies rudely, "And just so you know, you little psycho, if you don't die straight away in that arena, I'll kill you myself. It's only fair that I get payback." Astoria smiles at this twisted mockery of the usual alliance that formed between district partners, although it doesn't meet her eyes. She then mumbles something about a 'nova', but I'm not close enough to make out every word. It probably had something to with her past that only she knows about, a past that would be forgotten the moment that my knife slashed through her throat.

"And vice versa," I add, paying attention to the television just in time to see two stony-faced tributes from District Nine be greeted with silence as the escort presents them to the world. One of them, Lynx, did not seem to have a last name. Was he an orphan? Certainly, orphans would be an ideal choice for the Games, seeing as how very few people would miss them. In fact, it seemed that nobody cared for these two, judging by the lack of reaction from the crowd.

District Ten follows suit, with the female looking resigned at her fate and the boy making no attempts to hide his fear. Compared to the other tributes, who had defined themselves with strength or intelligence, these two tributes looked hopeless, and only the feeble wailing of a woman in the background calling the boy's name showed that he had anyone that didn't wish the Games upon him. Looks like District Ten had jumped at the opportunity to bloodbath their own tributes again.

District Eleven seem to have taken the opposite approach, seeing as Cilla and Fir seemed marginally stronger than last year's tributes. Both seemed like independent tributes, and I couldn't see them in an alliance. Actually, many of this year's tributes seemed strong enough to try and win on their own, which only made it easier for me to single them out and destroy them one by one. A giggle escapes my lips at the thought of proving my dominance over the other tributes, spraying their blood everywhere as their life was slowly snuffed out.

The last district chooses a strong - if haggard-looking - boy who is considerably well-built compared to the majority of his district. There's a smile on his face that makes him look genuinely happy at being chosen for the Games; an anomaly for District Twelve. The streak of surprisingly capable-looking competitors from the outer-districts is cut short though when a fellow twelve year old is chosen to be the District Twelve female. The moment the implications of her name being called out sinks in, she drops to the floor and starts crying. She ends up being hauled to the stage. And here I was thinking that the District Ten tributes and the midget from District Three were hopeless. This girl, Dandelion, had no chance whatsoever. It was almost enough to make me pity her, if it wasn't for the fact that her being chosen just made for an easier kill at my own hands. A sadistic grin replaces whatever relatively sane expression I had been wearing beforehand.

From the corner of my eyes, I can see Astoria narrowing her eyes at me, looking at me in disgust for not pursuing a pointless vendetta against the Capitol. No doubt that her thoughts revolved around the concept of vengeance for whatever the Capitol and I had done to her.

Whatever they were though, they would be secrets that she would take to her grave.

* * *

**I know, it's shocking, I actually updated within a week. Anyway, I've decided to lay out the Capitol chapters in this way, although the writing may not be great here as I'm not used to writing shorter POVs.**


	16. Wrapped In Satin - Chariot Rides

Quell it with Fire

The First Quarter Quell

Chariot Rides

_**Crimson Dasher, 15**_

_**District One,**_

I'm in the lion's den now.

It's so pretty here, and so tempting, observing the array of colours that brightened up my world. From rosy pink tiles and pastel-themed buildings to bronze statues and the way that the light reflected off the crystal clear water in the fountains, everything was designed specifically to grab my attention. It was like the Capitol were treating my eyes to every possible colour imaginable, teasing me like a child in a sweet shop. In this case though, there was nobody stopping me from admiring the multitude of sights here. This place didn't just draw your attention with colours though; all sorts of shapes and materials were on display here, thrilling every single one of your senses. Your fingertips could slide against silk, and the taste of chocolate and cream could satisfy your taste buds.

Don't forget the splashes of red that were everywhere, you couldn't forget that colour. Wherever it was from the flags writhing in the wind from the tops of buildings or the accessories that the Capitol people wore, it was everywhere.

If only the Capitol monsters weren't here, then this would be a perfect place to play in. They were the beings that turned this place from a haven to a nightmare.

One of my enemies was facing me, lips puckered in an expression that reminded me of a deformed beak. Her eyes were a penetrating black colour, and seemed too wide compared to the rest of her facial features. They seemed to taunt me with their blank expression, telling me that I was going to die painfully at the hands of the enchanting silver weapon she held. It wouldn't be the nice sort of pain either, it wouldn't be the pain that made you feel like you were on fire and feel _alive_, oh no. This thing would nip away at me in small, irritating bursts that would end up driving me mad, like a bird pecking away at wood. Yes, this thing was a bird that had been sent to kidnap and drag me back to its masters, and I was the princess that would fight it off on my own.

There was a prize behind this enemy, a long, golden dress that had dozens of small and gems embroidered into the fabric, with a elaborate crown that matched the dress. The best part was the necklace of orange-brown skulls that was lying next to the pretty clothes, "That's mine." I smile, imagining myself running around the Capitol, wrecking havoc on everything with that dress and washing it in red.

The bird opened its beak, "Darling, of course it's yours, but we need to sort out your hair and wash you before the chariot rides tonight first," it speaks slowly, trying to lure me into a sense of security before it attacked, "You want to look pretty, don't you?"

_You want to look pretty, don't you?_ The words echo round and round in my head, the meaning of them not quite sinking in. It didn't matter, it was an alien from the Capitol trying to hurt me, and I couldn't let its tricks affect me like they managed to blind everyone else to the Capitol alien's true intentions. Those skulls that were on that necklace probably weren't even real. It's just a trick, and I wouldn't fall for it.

They're just monsters, every single one of them are monsters under their plastic skin. You can't trust them.

Hands scrambling behind me for something to defend myself with, I grasp onto a pair of what feel like scissors like it's a lifeline. I couldn't let this thing change and model me into its idea of perfection. I refused to let it scrub off the blood that provided as a reminder of the other animals I had killed. The blood was a part of me, and since it came from nature and the animals there, it was fine. It was better than the glitter and perfume and dyes the monsters smothered themselves in. Pointing the scissors towards the bird-mutt, I glare at it, "I _am_ pretty. Me and Fluffy are doing just fine. Go away-er." I add petulant emphasis to the last word.

"Darling, don't be afraid. We're here to help you." It puts on a soothing, comforting tone, speaking in that way that I associated with the warm milk and a soft-spoken lullaby I had used to receive in my childhood before bedtime. Thinking that it had fooled me, it reached out towards me with the silver claws that it held, and I back away, growling.

"You can't be shown to the whole of Panem looking like that, Crimson." Oblivious to the warning signs telling it to keep away, it continues to advance. More of its minions appear in the doorway, their voices merging into a chant.

_Crimson, you need us to help you! We need you to cooperate! We're not going to hurt you! Just stay calm and relax! Crimson! Crimson!_

"Stay away!" I snarl, throwing myself into the leading bird-mutt thing that had threatened me first before enough time has passed for the words to leave my mouth. Grabbing the silver claws, I rake them down its face, emitting a high-pitched squawking sound of pain from it. Digging the sharp, pointed scissors into what I estimated to be its chest, I continue to stab it up and down, ignoring everything else but the feeling of the silver weapon being pressed into my hand and the red beads of blood that were forming from the skin of my enemy. Even though they could never be considered human, they could still be hurt. They even bled in the same way. I grin at my defeated opponent. It had thought that I would have been hypnotized by its appearance and the sound of its voice like everyone else did, but it had never faced anybody like me. I am invincible.

Suddenly, I see a flash of silver enter my vision before I feel a stinging sensation in my arm. Taking my attention off the thing, I look dumbly as the transparent liquid inside the piece of silver enters my arm, and almost straight away, I start to feel sleepy. Elongated fingers immediately clasp around my arms like prison cuffs, dragging me away from my enemy and to my doom.

No! I couldn't lose, I couldn't pay for this now! Screaming in order to block out the sounds of the monsters taking me away, I struggle in their grip, but my body doesn't feel like mine anymore, and it's becoming difficult to move my limbs in the direction I want them to go. It's like the blood inside my veins is turning to lead, trapping me inside my own body.

As the rays of light reflecting off the lights start to fade to the darkness, I open my mouth in a silent protest.

_I_ was supposed to be invincible.

* * *

_**Riley-Iron Holt, 18**_

_**District Two,**_

"Ah, ah-ah-ah!" I am literally left speechless as I stare at the gleaming pieces of metal that occupies the space where my teeth used to be. It matches the rest of the spotless silver tuxedo that I'm wearing for the chariot rides, but all I can concentrate on is how unnaturally perfect and shiny my new 'teeth' are. It's not completely obvious that my teeth aren't the ones I was born with from a distance, but it's notable enough that it'll grab attention from others. Luckily, my stylist - a man who I have been told is called Lucian - can understand my confusion.

"Aw, you look just fabulous now!" He clasps his hands together, "You see, your teeth were horrifically chipped from being punched by that boy at the Reaping, so we decided that replacing them with these would be a wonderful improvement. However, the procedure can't be performed properly with you conscious, so we anesthetized you beforehand. They aren't much sharper than most teeth, so they don't class as a weapon either," Lucian claps in joy as I stare at him, dumbfounded, "Aren't they brilliant?"

What I hate most about this situation is the fact that this idiot is so damn cheery about what's he done to me, "Ith hurths."

He just nods in false sympathy. I mean, has he ever been placed in a situation where you can't even talk properly for something as trivial as fashion? It was ridiculous, but that was the Capitol for you. They were even more mocking and patronising than District Two, and obsessed over the idea of perfection as much as Lyona did, "I completely understand, Metal-Mouth. See, aren't I clever? This invention goes perfectly with your nickname! I also specifically chose stainless steel so that it matches with your name. You know, because your name's Riley-_Iron_, and iron is a similar colour to steel? Obviously, I couldn't use iron as that tends to rust too quickly."

I sigh, the sound whistling oddly through the metal parts that now served as my teeth. There was something intrusive about the way the metal was lodged into my gums, although the fact that Lucian had authorised this without my permission was more cause for alarm. When I had been up on that stage, watching everybody congratulate me and Lyona as they were sure that another District Two victory was in their grasp, I hadn't thought that I would be put at any sort of disadvantage. And I especially hadn't considered that my own prep team would have lowered my chances of a painless victory in this way.

Lucian takes my sigh as his cue to ramble on, "We were going to implant these armour plates," he lifts up dull grey slabs of metal when he says this, "Onto your skin to make you look more intimidating, but some people thought that might double as proper armour in the Games, so it wasn't authorised and I had to _completely_ change your entire theme. Isn't it a shame?"

I have half a mind to punch him and see how he did without his actual teeth. When I had signed up for this, the Capitol had forgotten to mention that their stylists might damage your body in order to be the height of Capitol fashion. What was even more disturbing was what else Lucian and his merry band of chirpy assistants might have done to me while I was unconscious. I didn't remember wearing the tuxedo before. Looking down at myself, I deduce that my lunatic stylist hadn't tried to make my outfit too flashy, and had settled for a modest, yet winning, style.

All it really happened to be was a silver tuxedo with a slate grey bow and leather shoes of a similar colour. My hair was slicked back with gel, and although I can't tell what they've done to my face, I can guarantee that the scar I have has been covered up with powder. It wouldn't go with my gentlemanly look, I suppose. The real shock would be my teeth, which I was probably expected to put on show for the Capitol.

From here, I can see that Lyona is already at her chariot, wearing a skin-tight dress that looks like it's made from lizard skin, and her hair has been styled and dyed so that it looks like a riot of snakes are sprouting from her head. Her eyes have black contact lenses in them and her skin is dusted in an off-white powder that only draws attention to her eyes. The end result is Lyona's appearance reflecting her hideous personality; vicious, ruthless and pretentious in her attempts to be perfect. She was the epitome of everything that I disliked in a person, "Wha-ff ith sher-ee suppos-ter to be?"

"Your district partner's costume is derived from mythology," Lucian replies, "She represents a being called the Medusa. According to this book I read, she could turn people to stone with one glance at them! Isn't that the perfect thing to intimidate everyone?"

I decide not to mention the fact that Lyona looking powerful would undermine my ability to gain sponsors, since Lucian hadn't reached that conclusion and probably never would.

"Oh, I forgot to mention! Your new dentures might not stay in place for the first few days or so if you strain them too much, so I'd recommend eating soft foods before you enter the Games. And your mouth might take some time to adjust to your new teeth, so pronunciation might be difficult for you," Lucian chips in, not sounding the slightest bit bothered at this.

"Wha'?" I turn around to face him, noticing the way he suddenly looks a lot less confident, "Ow will tis helk me in ther Games ith I canth tolk poperly?"

When I hear how my own voice has been reduced to a pathetic jumble of sounds, I feel like crying. How will anyone take me seriously if I sound like a three year old? I can envision Barute back at home now, mocking how my voice sounds and making jokes at my own expense. And if he hears me as I sound now, the first sound that I'll be greeted with when I return is a jeering chorus that will only drive it in further that I can't talk properly.

Sudden fury rises up inside me and I shove Lucian to the floor, taking satisfaction in the fact that he crawls away from me when I take another step forward. It's not because I enjoy hurting him, but for once in my entire life, I'm the one that's in control. Not my father, not Barute and his friends, _me_. _I'm_ the one that can manipulate the entire situation, and I love it.

That feeling disappears when my dentures start to ache again, dissipating whatever force had made me react so violently. I'm left with the realisation that no matter what I feel, I had no say over what the Capitol had done to me, and I might as well face it, I never will do.

I'll stand out tonight, but all for the wrong reasons. Even in the Capitol, I'm still considered a joke.

* * *

_**Tableyt Kohl, 17**_

_**District Six,**_

It's like I've never left home.

I don't mean that in a good way either. District Six is full of self-centred bastards who were perfectly happy to ruin the lives of others with their words for their own amusement, and the exact same thing happens in the Capitol. Honestly, these people are just like the district I left behind. The entire place is just full of backstabbers and hypocrites who take joy in spreading rumours and tarnishing the work of others, just like District Six when rumours of the mayor's death had become apparent. Worst of all? Every single Capitolite I had met so far thought that they were so much better than everyone else, and that _their_ needs came first before anyone else. It was a wonder that the Capitol functioned well enough that they managed to rule the districts with the way that its citizens lived and how self-centered everyone was here.

If I had any delusions about money and wealth making you the better person, then they had been vanquished the moment I had overheard some of the Capitolite's conversations. Oh, your high heels have a few specks of mud on them? Boo hoo, woe is you. These people wouldn't last a second in District Six if that was their greatest worry in life.

One of those people happens to be a member of my prep team, Laurel, who keeps insisting that I have to board the chariot now, "Look, for the last time, just get on the damn chariot already." Laurel orders, looking like she's on the verge of a temper tantrum at my refusal to be near Althea.

"I'm not getting on the chariot with that thing," I object, glaring at Althea. When she notices me staring, she smiles and waves politely. Clearly, Althea was still trying to convince me that she wasn't holding anything against me and was trying to "start a new leaf" in a poor attempt to befriend me. Althea had even gone so far as to say that she wouldn't hurt me in the arena unless I attacked first, which was an obvious lie. Every person in District Six was a liar, and why would she be any different?

Laurel just sighs irritably, "Tableyt, you're being entirely unreasonable here."

"Well, that's rich coming from the woman that frets over the state of my hair." I retort, observing the other chariots to see which tributes would be made a laughing stock shortly. From what I could see, District Eleven was managing to hold the crown for the most idiotic costumes. Their stylists had clearly tried to be original and make the tributes look like farming tools. Both tributes - who wore hats with three prongs attached - resembled an antenna more than a garden rake. Neither looked amused, unsurprisingly enough.

"I had the right to fuss over it, Tableyt. It was an absolute mess." For a second, she reverts to her Capitol-bred obsession with first impressions and appearances before she rolls her eyes, "And if you don't get moving right now, I'll just manage it with you unconscious." I can't tell if she's bluffing, but I keep persisting, curious as to how far she was willing to go to haul me up there.

"You wouldn't."

"Really? It's what happened with the District One girl," Laurel nods with her head over to the first chariot, where the unstable girl from One is being propped up against the side of the chariot by a Peacekeeper. Her unfocused expression contrasts against the golden robes and crown that she was wearing. If I hadn't known any better, I would have thought this girl had raided her mother's wardrobe and tried everything on; her outfit was far too large for her petite body.

Reluctantly, I surrender, "Fine."

Clambering up onto the chariot, I get an unpleasant shock when Althea's face suddenly appears from the top, teeth set into a creepy grin that the makeup on her face helps with. For some reason, our stylists had decided that the theme of death fitted in with District Six. The clothes weren't anything special; just a white t-shirt and jeans. It's the makeup that makes a difference. Our clothes were smeared in what looked like dried blood and our skin had been coated in off-white powder to give it the appearance of death. Lastly, our prep team had used makeup to make it look like our skin was peeling away from our limbs to reveal blood vessels and tissue underneath. We looked like corpses.

Althea laughs lightheartedly at my shocked expression and grabs my wrist, helping me up onto the chariot. I immediately snatch my hand away, rubbing it like I've just touched something vile, "I can make my own way up, thanks." I point out.

She looks affronted by my cold attitude, "I was just helping. No hidden motives or agendas there."

"Yeah, because that's what the Games are all about," I sneer, "If you're really that stupid, then you're just a dead girl walking. Once you get in that arena, you have no chance. Hell, I might as well throttle you now in front of everyone, give them a preview of what's to come, eh? Fits in pretty well with our outfits, I'd say."

"You can stop bluffing. It's not going to scare me," Althea replies evenly, "All I'm asking is for you to leave me alone if I do the same to you. We don't even have to ally."

"Nice reasoning, but unfortunately for you, there's a flaw in that logic. You want to know what it is?"

Althea's eyes widen, and she leans forwards expectantly, clasping her hands together, "Oh gosh!" She pretends to look confused, "I wouldn't have the slightest idea, but do enlighten me."

"If I don't try and kill you, that gives you a chance at winning." I inform her, "And your attitude really isn't helping you."

Althea throws her hands up in exasperation, "Well, what were you expecting? I'm not going to jump off my plate just to please you!"

"You should; it'd be a quicker death than what you will get if you survive the bloodbath." A new voice interrupts our increasingly heated conversation, and both of us turn to face the ginger boy from District Four. The smirk already present on his face widens as he takes in our appearances, "Nice outfits there. Very symbolic of what's going to happen to you two."

"Why'd you say that?" Althea asks, being the idiotic girl she was, "We might win, for all you know."

The boy just rolls his eyes, "Because you're weak, you're pathetic," the smirk was still curving up his lips, but there was something odd in the way that he insulted us. It was almost like he was reciting a mantra he had drilled into himself, "Oh, and you're up against me. You really should pay attention to your own advice and jump off your plate, Six." Before he can add anything else, the loudspeakers come to life.

"Attention, attention! All tributes must now return to their chariots. The parade shall begin in five minutes."

The District Four boy just aims a mean smile at us, "Break a leg."

* * *

_**Astoria Blackthorne, 15**_

_**District Eight,**_

"Aw, look at how cute these two look!" Annise, the purple-haired stylist for District Eight coo, "I'm so blessed to have such adorable-looking tributes two years in a row!"

I can't believe that this woman had just called me and Velvet cute, especially Velvet. He was anything but approachable, especially now he was in a bad mood. Currently, he was struggling against the tendrils of rope that attached me and Velvet to the newly-installed roof on our chariot. To put it simply, me and Velvet were dressed up as wooden puppets. Our limbs were enclosed in wooden blocks that severely restricted our movement and both of us wore elaborate wooden masks over our faces. The audience wouldn't recognise the cumbersome, wooden puppets on the screen as us.

Personally, I like the idea of Panem not being able to identify me, although the feeling of security I get from this mask is useless. Everybody knows me from the Reapings already, but I still take some comfort in this mask regardless. At the very least, it would conceal my discomfort towards my situation, which was a plus.

"Yeah, adorable," Velvet hisses when Annise is out of earshot, "I'd like to see her say that when I find one of these tributes. We'll see how she reacts when I slaughter my way through everyone."

I roll my eyes, but since Velvet can't see this, I speak, "Velvet, you're twelve. You'll be squashed like a bug in no time. Try taking on one of the Careers or the guys from Seven and Nine - or even that Twelve boy - and we'll see how you do." I wasn't being entirely flippant; Lynx and Ender had a certain look of competency about them that distinguished them as threats to me, while the District Twelve boy, Cinder, had looked pretty happy at being Reaped, indicating that he planned on playing by the Capitol's rules without complaint. The fact that he looked stronger than the usual District Twelve tribute didn't help things either.

Velvet scoffs at this, "So that's why you're mocking me? Because of my age? That didn't stop me beating you the first time, did it Ria?" He laughs. There was something incredibly off-putting about his laugh, mainly because it sounded like the growling sounds an animal made before it attacked. I was also pretty sure that if Velvet hadn't been restrained literally by the costumes we wore, he would have attempted to shove me off the side of the chariot by now.

"Don't feel too proud about that, little boy. I was just being nice to you. Come on, you barely managed to knock me out successfully the first time," I decide to point out, "You didn't even have enough sense to check if I was really unconscious or dead first. What makes you think you'll get the chance now?"

"I always get my revenge, _Ria_." He drags out the syllables in his 'affectionate' nickname for me, "Didn't District Eight tell you that?"

I give him a mocking glance, amused by his use of a cliche line, "Watch out everybody, Velvet's coming for revenge! Better back off, we have our next victor over here!"

"Interesting how being the last one standing is considered a 'victory' according to you. I thought you disliked the Games, do you not?"

"Excuse me, but a 'victor' is just the title that the Capitol give to that person. I never said nothing about agreeing with it." I reply, irritated at Velvet implying that I actually supported the Capitol. As if I would do that when they had taken away the only person that I had managed to grow close to. It might sound stupid, but Nova was the only person who had shown me a life outside of the orphanage. Nobody could ever replicate what she had done for me, and now she was dead thanks to that Capitol-loving Peacekeeper, the same Peacekeeper that had convinced everyone to vote for me. How dare Velvet say that I would ever agree with them, as if that crazy nutter actually knew anything about suffering. The mayor's son had probably never gone a day without missing a meal, so what would he know?

He hisses quietly, but decides to seethe in silence and say nothing else as the chariots start rolling out, thankfully. I don't think I'd be able to keep a neutral expression on if I had to listen to Velvet's psychopathic ranting and giggling throughout the whole thing. However, there isn't anything else for me to concentrate on but the chariots in front of me. Due to being suspended eight or so inches above the ground by whatever fabric the supports were made out of, I couldn't exactly turn around very easily. My guess was that the supports consisted of carbon fibres, but I couldn't tell.

A bright sequence of lights blinds me for a few seconds before I realise that District Three have had their costumes activated. Both tributes are donned in formal evening wear made of taffeta that are adorned with glowing light bulbs; an odd choice for a thirteen year old girl and a skittish, gangly boy. The lights flickering off their costumes is a vibrant blue-white colour, probably to represent electricity or whatever. It's not particularly flashy, but in the evening, it's enough to catch your attention. More of the lights are scattered around their chariots, and I wish I could keep one for myself. I wasn't an expert on lights, so I was naturally curious as to how they actually worked.

I've missed the District Four chariot roll out, and I doubt that I'd be able to see them now that District Five have started to move out. The applause for them is nowhere near as loud as it had been for the first three districts, and once you see the baggy, fluorescent orange tracksuits that they wear, you can see why. I think the outfits were supposed to mimic the uniforms District Five wore, but it didn't seem to be a massive success with the crowds, which isn't helped by the glares Paraiba and Promethium were giving the audience.

District Six draws some gasps from the crowds initially at their blood-stained appearances, but soon enough, a steady round of cheers and clapping greets them. The Capitol just couldn't wait to see the other tributes recreate those made-up wounds on Tableyt and Althea, although it looked as if District Six were planning on doing that for us, seeing as Althea was ignoring her district partner's threatening gestures and waves at the crowds instead, a smile on her face. She seemed a lot more used to the attention than I would ever be, although it wouldn't do her much good in the Games.

There's literally nothing else for me to do or see, which is enough to make me feel twitchy. The blocks of wood I'm wearing makes me feel so claustrophobic, like it's about to dig into my limbs even more than it already is and crush me to death. I try and struggle against the restraints to feel a little more comfortable, but it's useless; the rope is too strong for me to escape, and the only thing I achieve is hearing the clanging of wood against wood as my legs knock against each other. Vaguely, I wonder if the Capitol had changed my stylist's original plans for the outfits to make us feel as much discomfort as possible. It might only be a small thing, but being humiliated in front of everyone would be a small revenge for my actions in District Eight, my hatred against the Capitol. If I was now a tribute, then the Capitol were surely informed on my views of them, of how disgusting they were for starving the districts of everything they produced for their own opulent city.

Suddenly, my chariot lurches forward, causing my body to shake as the material attaching me to the roof is jolted. I narrow my eyes as the spotlight is forced onto me and Velvet, and I keep them that way as I glower at the Capitol. If they were expecting me to smile and look happy at the fact that they were cheering on my imminent death, then they would be in for a shock. Besides, it wasn't like it really made a difference if I tried to look chirpier than Althea from Six, because in the end, it simply wouldn't make a difference. Looking pleased with the whole situation wouldn't help you out when one of the competent kids stabbed you at the bloodbath, and it sure wouldn't save twenty three of us from dying in the end, so why not show that? Why not strike out against the Capitol before I died?

I have nothing but my life to lose before the Games, and now they're going to kill me regardless of if I show my hatred of them or not.

What more can they do to me?

* * *

_**Lynx, 18**_

_**District Nine,**_

As the chariot stops in front of the President's mansion, I get the opportunity to witness for myself just how lavishly some of the tributes are dressed tonight. It was inane enough that the Capitolites were driven wild by our mere appearances, and the fact that it's just to see us die soon enough is laughable. Sure, the Games were a fantastic method for showing the districts who really held the power in this country - a genius idea, actually - but the Capitolites didn't seem to treat it as an occasion to show off their superiority, anything but. To them, this event was nothing but entertainment, despite the fact that many of the citizens were old enough to remember the rebellion twenty-odd years ago, and you know you're at the height of shallowness when you dismiss how dangerous the districts could be in favour of entertaining yourself. It was really quite pitiful.

What was even worse was the fact that the Capitol allowed a victor to escape from their grip and be in a position to stir up rebellions in their district. Why the Capitol didn't just allow the tributes to kill each other until none of them were left was beyond me. Really, the districts were supposed to be aware of the fact that they could never win, so why had the Capitol decided to give them a spark of hope by offering them a way out? If it wasn't for the fact that the districts' children killing each other meant that the districts were split up and incapable of organising another wide-spread rebellion, I would have just advocated gathering a handful of children and executing them in public.

It didn't even matter that if the Capitol did kill all of us, then I would be dead, because there's no point in worrying about dying early. Why did people even worry about the _length_ of their pointless, meaningless lives? Surely all that should matter was making the most of your life, so that if you did die before 'your' time, then you could safely say that you didn't regret a single moment or wish that you could rewind time?

Oh well, people were just short-sighted in that way, only caring about the present and ignoring the past and future. One couldn't expect anything more from a race as self-destructive as humans. The fact that the Capitol had created this event while the districts ignored their own children fighting each other was just another sign that people were selfish, and there was no point in ever thinking that things would change.

Of course, the Capitol couldn't do anything without showering it in jewelry and expensive clothes first. It was the only reason that I was dressed in this tan leather coat with equally tacky trousers. Both had been designed to look like snakeskin, because snakes were apparently a main theme in District Nine. River was on the other side of the chariot, wearing a skin-tight dress that was made of black leather. One had to wonder how many animals had suffered just to provide us with these outfits. River's dress reached just a few inches below her waist and showed her back, emphasizing just how skinny and stick-like River really was, and she was barefoot. Like me, she was stoic, not making any move to win over the Capitol or even look at them.

Despite our horrendously luxurious and Capitol-class outfits, we weren't the worst dressed. Some tributes, such as the District Seven duo, were wearing clothes that were so expensive and adult-looking, it just made the tributes look like they were playing dress-up. Ezmera was wearing a dress that was made out of gold, metallic leaves with gaudy high heels, and her hair was covered in glitter. Ender - much to his dismay - had a matching outfit, except for the fact that he wore a tuxedo and sensible shoes instead, and he looked irritated at the amused looks the other tributes were giving him.

Brenna, the District Four girl, has a truly pathetic outfit, if you can even call it that. The girl sits on a large rock, her legs encased in a tight-fitting, turquoise blue fin that prevents her from moving her legs. She's hardly wearing anything on her top layer, and the only things keeping her breasts from being completely exposed is her wet blonde hair and a long piece of seaweed stretched over her chest. Brenna looks embarrassed; a change from her apparent confidence earlier.

The light tapping of a fingernail against a microphone draws my attention upwards towards the balcony where the President is standing. The same President that gave my mother the ring that I now possessed, the ring that I had to destroy. It wasn't something I planned on doing because of some ill-fated act of rebellion; I just needed to rub it in my mother's face that her only memento of the President favouring her would be destroyed in the same event that she had gained the ring. My mother shouldn't even be alive - she should have died in her Games - and I didn't want her to benefit from me in any way. It was almost tempting to deliberately lose in this year's Games just to crack her reputation with a son who had died in the Games.

"Good evening." The President spoke into her microphone while her eyes twinkled, "I am proud to present you with the wonderful tributes for the Twenty-fifth Annual Hunger Games," President Flint paused to soak up the approval and the cheers that her presence caused. Once again, I take the moment to reflect on how ridiculously the Capitol were acting when the President was around. It was even more melodramatic than the way that Panem spoiled the 'victors' of their Games, victors that shouldn't be here.

When the audience had calmed down, she continued, "In penance for the districts' act of folly, they had to decide which two tributes would receive the honour of fighting in this year's Games for the greater good of Panem," her eyes rake over the chariots, a sympathetic smile on her face that didn't quite reach her eyes, "And what a fine bunch we have from the districts. I'm sure that this year's Quell will not disappoint." President Flint claps her hands, and on cue, a stream of fireworks burst out from somewhere behind the President's mansion.

"I suppose I must say this," she smiles, "But may the odds be ever in your favour."

* * *

_**Arya Snow, 17**_

_**District Ten,**_

The Capitol...it's like I've stepped into a fairytale.

No, the Capitol _is_ a fairytale. It's the city of my dreams, a true gem hidden within the depravity and greed of District Ten and all the other districts.

The people here, they're cheering me on, they're rooting for me to win. I can hear them chanting my name, offering me support like the princess I could be. All I had to do was show them that I deserved to be here, and this city could become my palace. I even looked the part right now, with a gorgeous silk dress that was a similar colour to the light brown rams I saw back in District Ten. Masquerading my features was an intricate mask made to resemble a ram's head, which seemed entirely made out of beads in varying shades of brown. There were even horns spiraling out from the sides of my head that were hung mere inches from my eyes, and although it felt quite weird having these two 'horns' weigh down my head, it certainly looked impressive.

Out of the corner of my eye, I can see one of the others - a handsome, brown-haired teen with a winning smile - on the far side of the City Circle dressed in armour that reflected the light just like diamonds did. He seemed so charming that I couldn't help but feel drawn to him. Something in the way that he carried himself reminded me of the boy that I had cared for in my daydreams.

Was this really him? Had someone from high above decided to grant my wishes and give me a knight that would protect me?

I try and make myself more obvious to him, trying to gauge his reaction to seeing me. However, he's too busy waving to the Capitol citizens to look over in my direction, ignoring the monster that was next to him that was laughing hysterically._  
_

_That boy doesn't mean you well_, a voice inside me says._ Stay away from them.  
_

Shaking my head to dispel these thoughts, I start to absorb as many of the details of tonight as I possibly can, noticing that the chariot was now moving towards the tall building that we would be spending the rest of our time in the Capitol in. I couldn't forget the diversity in everything here. The Capitol seemed to have every shape and colour represented somewhere, yet it somehow didn't look chaotic. It was fascinating trying to figure out the patterns that made the Capitol the way it was. Nothing was considered unacceptable or discriminated against here; a massive contrast against the plain wooden houses and bungalows that were so common in District Ten. Anything that was actually pretty didn't stay that way for long back there, but here, everything added together to form a collage that you could never get tired of looking at. It was pretty overwhelming, actually. I couldn't decide what to focus on.

"Arya," I hear Badger whisper, drawing my attention back to the outfit that he wore. He wore a simple black tuxedo and a mask sculpted to bear resemblance to a wolf. His outfit was simpler than mine, but he still managed to look good despite the awkward way that he stood, as if he didn't actually enjoy being on show. I didn't really get why anyone wouldn't like living here. Okay, so they had the Hunger Games instated, which wasn't exactly a great thing, but that didn't mean that you had to let that spoil the thrill of tonight. There was just something about the excited crowds and the festive mood around that made me feel amazing, "Are you okay? You're not scared, are you?"

His words don't really affect me, as I'm still trapped in the dream-like trance that tonight has left me in, "No, why would I be now?" My voice is barely higher than a whisper, and it's a wonder that he can hear me. Trying to reassure him, I tug up my lips in a faint smile, "Can't you hear them, Badger? They're cheering for us, they're blessing us with their gifts. We might have a chance."

_If the Capitol's so great, then why are half the districts starving while they feast?_

There's that voice again, telling me all the things that I don't want to hear. It won't go away and just let me enjoy myself. Sure, the Capitol were extraordinarily lavish compared to District Ten, but that only provided me with an opportunity to have a better life here, away from everyone back home who called me a liar and a murderer. Why should I care about District Ten and what they suffered when they had put me through so much? At least I could start a new leaf in this city, where I could establish myself as someone who did _not_ resort to killing others.

Badger's lips - the only thing that his mask doesn't cover aside from his eyes - twist into a frown, "That will change soon enough," he says, "Those adoring fans will move on once the Games start, and then we're really screwed. It might be fun tonight, but it won't stay like that forever."

"Don't be silly," I chide gently, although there's a small part inside of me that agrees with him, "Everyone has a chance, don't they?"

He clenches his fists, clearly infuriated, "No, they really don't," he manages to spit out through his teeth, "You think we all have a fair shot at this? Look at Peyton," he nods towards a awkward-looking girl smiling shyly at the crowds, "Or Dandelion," Badger points at a malnourished young girl that was dressed up as a victim of a fire. Burns and coal dust covered her entire body, and the clothes she wore were thread-bare. Compared to some of the other costumes, Dandelion looked hopeless, and I couldn't help but feel sorry for her. Badger's voice snaps me back from pitying the girl, "And compare them to some of the older tributes, like us, or the pair from District Two. Do you really think they'll survive above everyone else? Because chances are, they won't. It's not fair, and it's the Capitol's fault that they're here in the first place. They don't deserve it!"

I can tell that Badger's getting worked up over the Capitol again, so I just drop the subject as our chariot stops outside the building, muttering, "I'm sorry."

His body relaxes slightly, "It's not your fault, Arya. It's just how things go."

There was something in his words that had dissipated the happy, oblivious mood that the Capitol's finery had put me in, and made me realise that the Capitol might not be as glamourous as it seemed on the surface. Badger's mention of our precarious survival had awakened me to the reality of our situation.

They might dress us up, treat us like royalty and give us everything we could ever want, but then they throw us into a death match, and there's no way I can side-step that.

* * *

**Hello, here I am again with yet another weirdly fast update xD I would recommend not to get too accustomed to it though since I have school next week. In any case, I hope you liked this chapter, and if you spot anything wrong with it (grammar, plot, characterization, etc), then please tell me and I'll try to fix it :)**

**Next up, training! Any guesses for alliances?**


	17. Your Own Worst Enemy - Training Day 1

Quell it with Fire

The First Quarter Quell

Training Day 1

_**Lyona Stonelef, 16**_

_**District Two,**_

"So, what are your plans for today?" My mentor, Talon, asks, plopping another sugar cube into his cup of coffee.

I roll my eyes at his question. Wasn't it obvious that I was going to lead the alliance known to many of the outer-districts as the 'Career' pack? Why had he even asked? It wasn't as if any of the other tributes from One or Four were capable, judging by the recaps. Prodigy seemed far too arrogant and attention-seeking, and probably wouldn't want to lead the alliance anyway as he would no doubt say that he was 'too good for the job', while Crimson was a liability. If it wasn't for the fact that I had to lead the perfect Career pack of _six_ tributes - no more, no less - then Crimson would be dead seconds after the Games started. Meanwhile, the Four boy had objected to being chosen, which really said it all about his abilities, and no way could the girl hold a candle to me.

"Form the alliance with Districts One and Four, obviously," I reply, then I add a snide comment, "Unlike you, I'll actually manage to get in this time, and I _will_ stay there."

Talon clenches his jaw at this unsubtle insult to him. The idiot had managed to be kicked out by his twelve year old district partner last year, for some reason. Let's not forget that Talon had only turned sixteen, while I was a few weeks away from celebrating my seventeenth, so there was no way that I planned on taking advice from him. He barely knew what he was doing, "Being trained doesn't guarantee you a victory. Can't you do your basic math?" He snaps, clearly aggravated by my rudeness towards him.

"Excuse me, but how many tributes from Districts One, Two and Four have won in the past few years?" I didn't know the exact years they had won, but I knew that District Two had the most victors - five, to be exact - and the other two districts weren't far behind. Even if you purely based your bets on who won based on statistics, I was already at an advantage.

"Yeah, and how many of those tributes have died?" He fires back, "Even in the best cases, you still have a one in six chance of winning, and you can't disregard the other districts."

I snort rudely, "Whatever, it's obvious that I'm the best there is in this year's Games. District Two's the strongest district around, and I was chosen for this. Just because you were Reaped and got your ass kicked by that Twelve girl of all people doesn't mean that I'll be the same."

"You'll change your mind," Talon threatens, narrowing his eyes at me, "I was just like you a year ago, but that arena, it changes you. If you even survive for that long, you'll see what I mean."

"Again, I say _whatever_," I yawn insolently, "You sound just like one of those weakling 'victors' that the peasant districts have. Maybe you should jus - ah!" My scream interrupts what I was about to say as Talon's hand jerks sharply, deliberately splashing his coffee all over my training suit.

"What the hell was that for?" I shriek, noticing the wet patch of coffee all over my chest. Not only would I look like I couldn't drink a cup of coffee without spilling it, I also stank.

"Poor reflexes," he states neutrally, although his matter-of-fact tone doesn't hide his smirk, "I'd say that you might want to work on that, but since you're oh so perfect anyway, I won't bother."

"You'll pay for this."

"Oh, will I now?" Talon looks superior, "Who do you think District Two and the Capitol will support; a victor, or just another arrogant trainee?"

"Excuse me, I'm your next victor!" I spit, "And I'll win with far more style than you can ever hope to achieve!"

He looks at me with mock pity, "No, you're just another tribute, Lyona. Nobody's going to care if you die, because next year, you'll have two volunteers vying for the chance to sacrifice themselves for a country that doesn't care about them. You're _expendable_, so you'd better realise that before you charge into a situation thinking yourself too precious to lose because, quite frankly, you're not."

"By the end of today, I will be leading the Career pack! You hear that? Leading it, because I'm a far better trainee than you ever were!" I reply, sticking my tongue out at Talon, who just rolls his eyes before grabbing the nearest napkin, "And I'll continue setting the example of having six strong, deadly tributes to completely crush the other districts!" I slam my palm on the table, trying to grab his attention again to no avail, "If everything goes to plan like it should do, then I _will_ win. You'll be sorry then, Talon. Very, very sorry."

"You've already threatened me once, Lyona, and it's getting redundant," Talon is too busy cleaning up the coffee spilled on the table to even look at me like he should be doing, "And six, eh? Good luck achieving that without Riley-Iron."

The way he casually drops this into the conversation means that it's implication almost flies by me until the words sink in, "Wait, what?"

Talon seems to be taking an immature satisfaction in my shock, which only reminds me of how incredibly big-headed and annoying he was during last year's Games, "He's not in any state to explain his motives to you right now, but he won't be joining your 'perfect' little pack this year. I hope you have fun dealing with that, _Lee_."

His unexpected use of my brother's demeaning nickname only makes the anger boiling inside of me increase in intensity. It was bad enough that Riley-Iron seemed determined to ruin my chances at success with his idiocy without my mentor mocking me. Standing up, I snatch one of the forks provided at breakfast and point it in his direction, "Call me Lee again and I'll shove this down your throat!" I growl.

Talon remains calm, that irritating smirk still stuck on his face, "You still haven't addressed my other concern for your well-being, Lee," he continues to insult me with that nickname, despite my warning. Mind you, it didn't take a genius for him to realise that I wasn't technically allowed to attack him anyway, "How are you possibly going to have your perfect alliance now?"

"I'll make him join! Riley-Iron won't defy me!" I shout at the top of my lungs, hoping that Riley-Iron could hear me. Childishly, I throw down the fork and storm off. Thanks to my district partner, it seemed that I would either have to deal with the horror and the potential mocking for having a smaller pack, or that I would have to accept one of the vermin from the other districts into the most esteemed alliance.

This whole leading thing really wasn't worth it if people didn't listen to what I ordered them to do. Why couldn't everything just go _my_ way for once?

* * *

_**Dandelion "Dani" Wildflee, 12**_

_**District Twelve,**_

_"Just remember what I said, Dani. Be friendly to the others, and people will want to ally with you."_

I try and hold onto those words that my escort had given me as I board the elevator, but it's impossible when I'm reminded of everything about District Twelve I will never get the chance to see again. The dim lighting inside the elevator only reminds me of the creaky, dank elevators that were installed in the mines back home. Even just waking up and seeing the sun rise over the Capitol had been enough to send a pang of loneliness through me as I recalled all the times that the sun had brightened up the grey world of my district. Then I feel like crying again because I know that the chances of me seeing District Twelve are so small.

What chance do I possibly have, when I was up against older, stronger tributes that had probably done far worse things to be here than I had? And even if I was capable of surviving, then how could I possibly force myself to kill anybody? The idea of taking someone's life went against what rules I had been taught to follow so much that I couldn't consider hurting anybody else here. I mean, I couldn't even comprehend how suddenly my life had changed. It seemed so surreal now, the life I had lived back home before I had been picked. Was it really just a day ago that I had reassured my father that I would never leave him?

Well, that had turned out so well, I think to myself in a rare moment of bitterness. However, I'm reminded of the fact that I would never see my father again, and it's enough for the tears that had been brimming in my eyes to start pouring, splattering onto the floor as I weep silently.

"Why are you crying?" Cinder asks all of a sudden, sounding tetchy as he observes me. The squinting of his eyes makes him look confused, as if he genuinely has no idea of why I was miserable at the prospect of dying.

Sniffling, I have to cough first to clear my throat before I can talk, "I-I mi-miss home," I croak out, wiping the tears from my eyes as I glance up at Cinder for a second before I look away again. If I was completely and utterly honest, he was scary. Not only did he look capable of killing me, Cinder had this weird, fanatic glint in his eyes when he looked in my direction, almost like he was looking forwards to it, "D-Don't y-y-you?"

"No," he replies bluntly, making no attempts to elaborate on his answer.

"A-Aren't you ev-even sc-scared?" I stutter out, nervously edging away from Cinder into the corner of the elevator.

"Why would I be?" He pauses for a few seconds as he stares off into the distance. He tilts his head slightly, face screwed up in concentration like he's listening for something before closing his eyes and rubbing his forehead, "It's too bright in here."

"Wh-What?" The lighting in here barely illuminated the elevator buttons. How could he find it too bright?

"Oh, nothing." He mutters before his eyes open and focus on me suddenly. There's an excited spark inside of them that wasn't there before and doesn't help make me feel much better, "Cheer up. Dani."

He hastily tacks on my nickname at the end before outstretching one arm and patting me on the shoulder too hard for it to be a comforting gesture, "Everything's going to be just fine."

Before I can take in his sudden change in attitude towards me, the elevator doors open to let the District Seven tributes in. Both were in the middle of a serious discussion, or rather, the girl was debating hotly with the boy, who looked irritated.

" - shouldn't be helping you, but you can't go off on your own like that, Ender. Everybody knows that loners are at a tactical disadvantage in the Games when it comes to surviving, and how are you supposed to fend off other alliances?" the girl continues boldly. From the way she was talking, you would have thought she held the key to winning the Games, she sounded that confident.

She quickly stops talking when she realises she has an audience and gives both of us a polite smile. Noticing my red eyes, her expression softens to a more sympathetic one, and she takes out a handkerchief that she must have been saving, "Here you go, darling."

"Th-thank you," I say before the doors open again and all four of us exit. Noticing the semi-circle of tributes already assembled, it looks like we're among the last to arrive. Trying not to look too self-conscious of commanding the attention of the others, I shuffle over next to the nice-looking girl from Six, who gives me a shy smile back.

I freely admit that I don't pay much attention to whatever rules have been set by the Capitol, but I doubt that I'll want to break any of them anyway. I wasn't interested in defying the Capitol until my last breath; I just wanted to remember the happier days I had experienced once more before I died.

Once we're allowed to wander around, I slink over to the nearest station, the edible plants section. The training room with all its weaponry designed to kill has only reignited the fear that had been generally affecting me ever since I had approached the stage, and quickly, I take out the handkerchief the girl from District Seven had given me and wipe my tears away. I only wished I knew her name so that I could appreciate her small gesture of kindness a little more. Instead of dwelling on training, I reach into my pockets and retrieve the purple bandana that I had taken as my token from home. It used to be my mother's, and she had given it to me before she had died.

Tentatively, I smell it, but luckily, it still smells like soot and the musty scent of herbs my mother loved so much. She used to walk around the district and whenever I pointed out a pretty-looking flower that I could decorate my hair with, she would tell me of the more practical uses for that plant. With this bandana, I can still recall the memory of feeling like my mother was invincible, and that she would always protect me. That feeling of security is attached to this bandana, and with it, I can have at least one happy memory of District Twelve.

It's so lonely here. I just want to go home.

* * *

_**Paraiba Addams, 15**_

_**District Five,**_

"Why are you even trying, Rome?" I ask, watching with some amusement as my district partner - and ally - glares at the flint and steel kit that he's using to try and start a fire with. This station was supposed to be for learning how to cook in the wild, but I guessed it served as a handy starting point for fire-starting as well. For some reason, he's glaring at the steel, clearly thinking that's what he's doing wrong.

He glances at me before giving up altogether, "Learning this might save our lives in the arena, Paraiba."

"Oh yes, I forgot. Exposure can kill as easily as a knife." I mimic the words of the head instructor loudly in a high-pitched voice, earning me dirty looks from several instructors nearby.

Rome remains serious, "I think the question I should be asking you is why _aren't_ you trying."

"Oh yes, it is totally worth the effort of exerting yourself for three days for nothing." I point out, "Seriously, do you actually expect to learn something life-saving in that amount of time?"

Naturally, I don't bother pointing out the other deterrent for me training, like the Gamemaker who clearly had plans for me. I might not know what she had in store for me, but I didn't want to spend my last days clinging at straws in some desperate attempt to extend my life by a few hours. If that's what I'm expected to do, then I would do the exact opposite. I wasn't going to bother trying to win; I'm just going to sit back and enjoy life while I still could. At least I could be thankful of the fact that I had lived, even if I would never experience growing up. I think it would be a lot worse if you were eighteen and had only just experienced a small taste of what being adult felt like before that was ripped away from you.

"You never know," he mumbles vaguely, still looking at the fire-starting kit morosely. Sighing, I walk over and pick up a sharper piece of flint before striking it against the steel over the charred pieces of cloth provided. Everybody knew that it was the high pressure exerted on the steel by the sharpened flint that wore out a small piece of the steel and caused it to burn, hence the spark. Surely enough, I have a flame a few seconds later.

I adopt a clueless, perky voice, "See? I'm not completely hopeless as an ally! Go me!" I applaud myself before continuing in a scholarly tone, "Your flint wasn't sharp enough; that's what you were doing wrong."

"Thank you so much for deciding to share this fascinating and insightful piece of information. Truly, you are generous to do such a thing," Rome deadpans.

"Anything for you, my darling." I pretend to swoon, falling backwards slightly against one of the brick columns that were spread out periodically around the room. However, I decide that I may as well do something semi-productive. With this in mind, I grab some of the ingredients before wantonly shoving them into one of the pots and dumping it on top of the small flame I had made - effectively snuffing it out - and stirring it with a spoon, "Ta da! I even cooked a meal to show you how much I appreciate your compliment!"

He doesn't look pleased as he peers sceptically into the pot, "Wonderful! That's not wasteful whatsoever."

His words are so drenched in sarcasm at how casually I had 'wasted' the food that was so easy to come by here that I almost flinch, but then I decide to look at whatever I had actually made. The mixture of herbs and berries doesn't look particularly appetizing, "Oh-kay, what do I do with this now? Maybe this station can double as camouflage!" Dipping a finger in, I spread some of the orange-brown mixture over my arm, "Ladies and gentlemen, my arm now artfully resembles a puddle of sick!"

"Mhm, looks just delightful," he says, before a mischievous grin appears on his face. He actually had a cute smile when he was in a good mood, "Dare you to eat that."

I hadn't been sarcastic when I said that it looked like a pile of vomit, because the texture and colour were spot-on. It wasn't exactly something I was jumping at the opportunity to eat, "Are you joking? That stuff looks lethal."

"Why, whatever could you mean? Your stellar cooking could never be of danger to anyone." Rome replies innocently, plain green eyes twinkling, "Have you forgotten the methodical way you described baking a cake?"

I grin at the reminder, "Oh, fine, but you have to try it too." Before he can object, I dip a finger into the simmering pot - disregarding any risks attached to doing such a thing - and put it in my mouth. The mass of differing tastes threatens to overwhelm my tongue, but I manage to swallow it before flinging specks of my 'amazing' cooking in his direction, giggling.

"Excuse me, but your allotted time here is almost over. I would recommend learning from this instead of messing around." The head instructor, Veronique, suddenly appears from behind the column, looking less than impressed with our banter. Me and Rome exchange confused glances; allotted time? Here I was thinking we could spend training doing as we pleased.

Knowing that we haven't the slightest clue as to what she's talking about, Veronique continues, "New procedure for how training will proceed. Due to the appalling number of tributes that died last year from natural causes, we are now providing schedules for each tribute that is specifically tailored towards eliminating your weaknesses, building up upon your strengths and ensuring that you at least learn something new in these three days." At this, she hands us two schedules before continuing, "The first part of each training day gives you the freedom to do whatever you choose, but after that, you must follow the schedule. Any alliances you would like to form must be done during the lunch intervals or outside of training. Any attempts to bypass your schedule will be punished severely."

With that, Veronique strides over to the edible plants station where the pair from District Nine were working silently, presumably to tell them the same thing.

Shrugging in an attempt to show my indifference towards whatever I was 'supposed' to do, I turn to Rome, "Well, that's new. Haven't heard any of the mentors talk about this before."

Rome just sighs, "It's like we've gone back to school again."

* * *

_**Ender Nightingale, 18**_

_**District Seven,**_

As the bell rings, the instructor gives me back the card that has my routine printed on it. Next to the first section, there was a small tick to show that I had attended the station.

"This is really impractical," I mutter, scowling at the station I had to go to next: Swimming. The station in question looked newer compared to some of the other stations; maybe it had been installed after several tributes had drowned last year. However, I already knew how to stay afloat, and the chances of there being large expanses of water in the arena were so small that you could probably just bypass that station and not end up drowning. Really, this was just a waste of time that I could be using to learn the basics of a weapon that wasn't an axe, or at least improve my endurance on the fitness machines available.

"This is just a trial, Mr Nightingale," the instructor says stiffly, "We would like to lower the amount of deaths due to the districts' inability to teach their children common sense."

Yeah, can't have all the tributes dying of natural causes, I think. That wouldn't be entertaining otherwise, would it now? Instead of pointing out that not knowing how to swim wasn't synonymous with having no common sense, I just stand up and head towards the large swimming pool. I had to admit, there was something in the way that the tiles made the water seem unnaturally blue that warranted a second glance, since it made the water look almost luminous.

More alarmingly though, there didn't seem to be anywhere, well, private to get changed. It might be a petty thing to worry about, but I wasn't accustomed to the idea of people seeing me almost naked, and personal privacy was something I valued. It was one of the few values I still had after all this time, and I was determined not to let the Capitol take that away from me as well.

Here, I felt like the Capitol was just using me as an experiment, stripping me of everything that I had once held dear and demoting me to a non-entity, something that couldn't be considered human. Was that what the Games were really about, I ponder. Reducing the districts' children to animals that had no higher level of reasoning than to do anything they could to survive, then broadcasting it to everybody to show just how inhumane we must be? They had been going on for twenty four years prior to this, and now they expected me to carry on the torch to show the Capitol just how beyond reason us district citizens were and that the Games were helping keep the 'barbaric, savage' districts in check.

"Hello, and welcome to the swimming station!" The instructor pipes up cheerily when he sees me approaching, "There's no need to worry about changing, by the way," he reassures me when my confusion becomes apparent, "Your training suit's waterproof, so it'll dry easily once you're finished. I'd recommend taking off your shoes and socks first before you go in. Most arena outfits are resistant to water as well for your convenience."

A splash alerts me to the fact that I'm not the only tribute here. Much to my misfortune, the girl from District Four is also there, casually unzipping her training suit and entering the water without a single care for the fact that she was in her underclothes. When she notices me staring, her lips curve upwards in a satisfied smirk, "Liking what you see, Seven?"

"It's Ender," I reply without commenting on her lack of decent clothes, taking off my socks and tentatively entering the water. Although I know that the water is heated by the Capitol, it felt incredibly weird to be submerged in warm water. The only time that I've ever been in water that was anywhere above cold was when taking the occasional bath, and since that had to be heated with a fire unless it was summer, the water was rarely hotter than lukewarm.

She licks her lips, looking at me with deliberate coyness from under her eyelashes, "What a gorgeous name," she breathes, slinking closer to me with ease in the water, which was deep enough to reach my waist, "It suits you."

Annoyed at the flirtatious way that this girl was mocking me, I look at the instructor in exasperation, hoping someone would call her out for distracting me from training, but he was watching the two of us with a lazy smile on his face. Apparently, it wasn't a priority for the tributes to actually focus on their training. Smiling, she traces one finger down my shoulder before fiddling with the zip of my training suit, "You look strong as well, definitely good enough to join me."

"I don't want to join, thanks." I try and say politely, but she's cornered me against the edge of the pool and still has a tight hold on my suit.

The girl's smile then takes on a meaner edge. "Oh, really? Well, I guess that I can't always have what I want, and it's kinda cute," she laughs, a dry, mocking sound that reminds me of the obnoxious girls back in District Seven that had always seemed to patronise you, "You thinking you can get away with saying no. I guess it's more fun this way, actually. You definitely look like a challenge."

Before I get the chance to respond, the District Four girl pushes herself down into the water, automatically pulling me as well. I barely understand what she's doing before I - accidentally - get a taste of the water that fills my mouth and nose. Straight away, it becomes clear that whatever is in this water is not natural as a bitter taste stings my taste buds. However, I can still see underneath the water well enough to note that the girl's mouth was bared in a vicious grin at my predicament. Instinctively, I shove the girl hard in the chest, loosening her grip on me before my hand breaks the surface of the pool. As soon as I can breathe again, I splash away ungracefully from where the girl is still under the water and swim towards the shallow end of the pool, not wanting her to invade my personal space again. However, she isn't from District Four for nothing, and she's managed to close the distance between us under the water before she resurfaces for air.

The girl looks a little disappointed at the fact that I didn't panic as much as she wanted me to when I was dunked under the water. I can tell by the sulky pout that was trying - and failing - to hide, "Well, isn't that a surprise? I wasn't expecting you to swim away that fast, or at all, really."

Silently, I curse to myself. Not only have I potentially put myself on the hit-list of a trained tribute, but I had also given away the fact that I could swim; an ability that few District Seven tributes possessed. I didn't care if that might be one of the most irrelevant, least dangerous skills one could possess, because even that little detail was something that I didn't want others knowing. I couldn't take the chance that someone might pick up on all those little details left around and use them to create the bigger picture about me. Really, I should have pretended to panic just to please her.

"In any case, it was very nice meeting you, Ender," the way that she whispers my name only makes me feel even more sure of the fact that she would be keeping an eye out for me from now one. Although I don't show my dismay at this, her fallen angel's smile grows wider as she continues, "I'll look forward to seeing you in the arena, sweetie."

* * *

_**Ros Messina, 17**_

_**District Four,**_

"You attach the string here and tie it to there - " The bubbly instructor, a girl whose name-tag states her name to be Addiana, decides to point out, not realising that her words were completely wasted on a knot-tying expert like myself. However, she was from the Capitol, and acting like complete idiots compared to the districts seemed to be a common trait here. Even I had more intelligence than this airhead, and that was saying something because I was hardly clever.

You knew when you were worse than me at something that you might as well give up, because seriously, what could _I_ do? I'm not smart, because the girls from Three and Five were cleverer. You couldn't call me strong, because no matter how I liked to show off my physique, I still paled in comparison next to Prodigy. And I was hardly a expert with weaponry, because I had never expected to be entering the Games so why would I have bothered training? It was a real stroke of luck that I had some degree of competency with nets and knives from years of fishing, since it was a hobby of mine. I might as well have counted myself as one of the pathetic, hunched-over outer-district children that were better off dead anyway than living their pointless lives in poverty back home if I hadn't.

Despite my lack of 'official' training, I still plan on joining up with Districts One and Two. That alliance was the best one around, and even though I secretly knew that I would never ever be good enough for anything, I couldn't show it. Anything below the best would never work for me, because that was what everybody else expected me to achieve, and if I didn't act like I was good enough, then people might start voicing their doubts about me to my face and mock me.

As I finish tying the knot on my own, Addiana claps, grinning like the fool she was, "You've finished tying the knot! Oh Ros, that's amazing!"

She says this without the slightest trace of sarcasm, as if I was too stupid to realise what I was doing. Mind you, she was from the Capitol, and everyone there seemed to be an airhead. Regardless, her stupidity irritates me.

"Wow, you don't say," I snap with biting sarcasm, "I know you can't actually do anything productive without the help of one of your Avoxes, but I can actually figure out the world around me. You see, I have this thing called "common sense" and can "work things out" without your dumb comments, so why don't you just shut up?"

"No need to be mean; I was being affable." Addiana replies, not looking bothered at all. To be honest, I'm surprised she even knows the meaning of 'affable', "If everyone is nice to each other, then the world would be a much nicer place, you know."

I narrow my eyes at her. Was that last comment a subtle dig at her opinion of me? Did she think that I wasn't 'nice' enough to be friends with her, and she was just being too cowardly to tell me this? It really annoyed me when people didn't bother telling me what they thought I was like to my face. Admittedly, I usually punched whoever dared to actually insult me, but how else was I supposed to make others respect or/ and like me if all I heard was a bunch of sugar-coating? And at least beating up others meant that I gained some sort of respect around here.

Oblivious to my bad mood, Addiana continues to blather on, "Gosh, if only the districts were more civilized! I mean, they slaughter each other over the silliest of things, and they don't even bother trying to look presentable for us! My sister, Skylar, works as a stylist, and she had to deal with that barbarian girl from District One. For the fact that she's from one of the better districts, her hair was an absolute mess and she tried to kill Skylar. My sister's in hospital thanks to that sav - "

"Oh, poor her. Knowing the Capitol, your idea of being hospitalized probably involves chipping a nail," I sneer, "Besides, surely she would have known the risks of working with such 'savage' people like us?" I reply snidely, "It probably would have been better if your sister had died; it would be one less worthless moron polluting this world with her empty head."

Before I've finished speaking, the bell rings, signalling lunch break. Without another glance at Addiana, I get up and walk over towards the table where Brenna, both tributes from One and the girl from Two, Lyona, are already crowding around. From the agitated gestures that Lyona is making from in front of me, I can tell I've walked into the middle of an argument. Brenna just watches with some amusement, her face devoid of any malicious or overly ambitious intent to take control.

"Sorry to say it, honey, but you're not much more than a pretty face. I'm the full package." Prodigy winks at Lyona, grinning widely at her irritation.

"_I'm_ best suited to lead this alliance, and that's final!" Lyona screeches, completely disregarding Prodigy's vain comments. For some reason, she reminded me of a small, petulant child throwing a hissy fit.

Prodigy just flicks his fringe back while smiling arrogantly at Lyona, "Listen babe, you're younger than me. Leave the more responsible jobs to the adults."

"Don't ever call me 'babe' again." Lyona growls, and I roll my eyes. No wonder these two were getting nowhere; both were too busy trying to insult each other to actually address the issue of leading the alliance. It was insulting how little the two of them were taking the Games seriously.

_That's because they don't have to try_, the thought comes unbidden to me. _They can fight, regardless of how they act now. Whereas you, you're all talk and you haven't got anything to back yourself up with. You're pathetic, your own father doesn't even think you're good enough, and don't you forget it._

"I'm not interrupting anything, am I?" I ask more loudly than was required, as if the volume of my voice would dispel the insecure thoughts that I harboured as I make myself known, "If you two would be so kind as to stop banging your own chests, I'm joining this alliance."

"Sure, whatever." Prodigy says offhandedly before Lyona could reply, "You don't have to worry; I'll make sure you stay here and not with the vermin from the other districts."

"Excuse me, I'm the one that has the final say!" Lyona snaps, ending the break from the argument as Prodigy laughs. It doesn't look like this alliance would be working together too well, but since I didn't want to lead these morons around, it didn't concern me.

Noticing the girl from Twelve looking at my group nervously, I just smirk at her, noticing how she flinches away slightly and looks down helplessly at her bowl of soup. Her shy, skittish mannerisms just cause me to feel even more annoyed. I barely even did anything, and yet she acts in such an extreme way just by me looking in her direction. All the same, I couldn't deny the satisfaction I felt when she had been so obviously cowed by me. At least it meant that I had some control over what people did, and if I couldn't make people like me, then I'd just hurt them instead.

I'd take being feared over being liked, if I can't be both.

* * *

_**Ezmera Hazel, 16**_

_**District Seven,**_

To the surprise of nobody with any foresight, the number of alliances that have formed over today are minimal.

Actually, that might be a slight understatement, because the only other alliance that exists aside from the Careers is the pair from District Five, who seem to be together purely out of friendship - if the pair of them laughing was any clue - and not because of the advantage both gain by having numerical superiority over the majority of the tributes.

I turn to Ender, who I believed was only sitting next to me because we were district partners, "So Ender, how did your training go?

He shrugs, "I kind of showed that District Four girl that I can swim fairly well," he grumbles, "She tried to drown me, so I panicked."

That was actually a reasonable tactic in getting others to show you what you could do. Scaring others into thinking that you were going to hurt them was a good way of working on what fear did to others, as in, it made the person react more rashly, meaning they were likely to slip up and reveal some ability they were hiding. In Ender's case, he had inadvertently shown Brenna how well he could swim. It wasn't the worst mistake that he could have made, but it was clear that at the time, he hadn't realised what Brenna might have been up to, which was more important.

How did he even learn to swim, anyway? I knew perfectly well that if I had been placed in that situation, I would have freaked out. It was true that I was not the expert swimmer; the few times I had tried were not happy memories for me. The feeling of having no ground beneath your feet to steady you and the unpleasant sensation of feeling weightless and not in control of my own body was not something I was in any hurry to experience again. I preferred feeling like I had control over myself, even if that wasn't necessarily true. It wasn't logical, but being in a position when I can't control my own fate was enough to worry me.

"Oh Ender, that's bad, but you can still make up for that mistake if you go about it the right way." My voice sounds too false and optimistic for my own liking, but I was trying to shake off the memories of being surrounded by water and not knowing what to do. I always had some idea of what to do, didn't I?

"Oh, not again," Ender mutters under his breath, but I pretend not to hear this.

" - because while those schedules are the most convoluted and impractical method of 'improving' our abilities possible, you can still twist them to your advantage. Presumably, we'll be allowed the chance to visit every station at least once during the few days, so everyone can see how good you are at every aspect of training covered here, which is both an advantage and a downside if you think about it."

"Ezmera, I get it."

"If you just pretend to suck at every station, you might not be noticed by the Careers, but you run the risk of someone paranoid who just presumes that you're hiding something, which means you'll be one of the first to be targeted." I continue, remembering all those years where tributes who had pretended to be weak had ended up falling prey to the more paranoid tributes.

Ender raises an eyebrow, "I don't think showing off everything you can do is the best idea either, O Great One."

Ignoring his sarcastic endearment, I continue, "I never said that telling everyone everything about your strengths is a good idea either, for obvious reasons."

In my opinion, it was a better idea to go for a compromise of the two options. Say, if you were reasonably competent with axes, but excellent with constructing traps and knowing which plants were poisonous - as I was - then the only thing I would show off was my mediocre fighting skills with an axe. That way, people would automatically presume that axes were my forte and that my training strategy would be to improve my ability with one.

As a result, people would be more likely to presume that my method in the actual Games would be using direct combat to overwhelm my opponents, therefore meaning that they won't be expecting my other, more indirect tactics of picking off my opponents. It would be better if I could use another weapon so that I could surprise any attackers with that, but I could make do.

Naturally, I didn't bother telling Ender this. Just because I felt the need to inform him about what not to do during training, it didn't mean that I should be telling him what _I_ was doing.

"Excuse me, may I borrow that, please?" Those soft-spoken words prevents me from saying anything and as I turn around, I realise who spoke. It's the young girl from District Three, who was looking slightly nervous at talking to someone despite the polite smile she wore. She happened to be pointing at the small bowl of nuts and seeds on our table that remained untouched, "Kiba really likes them."

For a second, I'm stunned into silence as I take in the fear that was shining in her eyes, not because of me, but because she had been chosen to enter the Games at such a young age. This was a sickening example of how people expected their children to mature beyond their time, and whoever had _voted_ for someone so young to enter this death match were horrible, horrible people.

What was even worse were the people who had, essentially, coerced District Three into voting in the first. The Capitol. No words can describe how horrendous they were for advocating this, especially since the girl, Peyton, still had an entire life ahead of her that she would never get the chance to experience. She wouldn't experience the independence you felt when you were a teenager, wouldn't know the responsibilities of having a job, wouldn't get the chance to grow up, basically. No, she would witness none of those things in her life, because the Capitol had deemed that she would die for their entertainment.

Ender has passed over the bowl while I was caught up in my thoughts, and as she turns to leave, I grab her wrist with my hand, "P-Peyton," I take a few seconds to collect my thoughts as she stares at me, "Do you want to ally with me?"

Her eyes widen in surprise before she regains her composure, "Me? Really?" I nod and her face breaks out into a grin, "Sure, I'd love to!"

Her smile's contagious and I can't help but smile back. I wasn't sure of how much I could really help her in the arena, but if I could make this girl's life any better before she died, then at least I could say I had done something good.

It's only when she skips away happily that I feel Ender's eyes boring into me, "Well, Peyton isn't exactly what I'd call ally material. I wasn't expecting you to ally with her either," he states blandly, "But I guess she is a good option."

I'm still mulling over how a sweet girl like Peyton could have ended up in the same situation as us, so I'm not paying much attention, "Don't sound so sceptical over my choice. I'm always right."

His next words are enough to fully bring me back to reality, "After all, she'll be pretty easy to turn on when the time comes, am I right?"

* * *

**Here I am with another fast update (for me). I'm probably making more errors than usual, so feel free to correct me.  
In other news, training has begun! Obviously, not all of the alliances will be formed on the first day, so the list below will change as the events in the pre-Games (and indeed, the Games themselves) unfold. What do you think of the alliances made so far?  
**

**Current alliances (not the final list, naturally):  
**

**Prodigy Avenue, 17, District 1 Male,**  
**Crimson Dasher, 15, District 1 Female**  
**Lyona Stonelef, 16, District 2 Female,**  
**Brenna Fairbain, 16, District 4 Female,**  
**Ros Messina, 17, District 4 Male,**

**Paraiba Addams, 15, District 5 Female,**  
**Promethium Tundra, 17, District 5 Male,**

**Peyton Wyre, 13, District 3 Female,**  
**Ezmera Hazel, 16, District 7 Female,**


	18. Behind Closed Doors - Training Day 2

Quell it with Fire

The First Quarter Quell

Training Day 2

**_Arya Snow, 17_**

**_District Ten,_**

"Are you okay, Arya?" I hear Badger say, his feet stamping the floor as he approaches.

"You ask me this every time we see each other," I say playfully, still concentrated on shading in the final few white gaps in the small figure on the page, "Is this your trademark greeting or something?"

"I just want to help you," he replies quietly, "I mean, I'll go if you want me to, it's not a problem."

I don't reply straight away, because any fool can see that me leaving Badger wouldn't go down well with him. I was his only attachment to home, no matter how tenuous that attachment was.

Glancing up from the notebook I had found in my assigned room, I see Badger looking at me uncertainly, as if I was a small flower that needed to be protected. In any other situation, I would have appreciated his concern over me - seeing as that was the nicest emotion that had ever been shown to me - but things seemed different now. The effects of the parade yesterday seemed to have rubbed off overnight, leaving me with a feeling of discontent that I couldn't seem to shake off. There was a small voice inside me that told me I could protect myself, that I didn't really need anyone else, but I quickly dismiss the thought. Now that I was sitting here in this room with a notepad and a pen, nothing else seemed quite as important anymore.

"Yeah, I'm surprised you hadn't gotten the message sooner," I make an attempt at teasing as to make the situation seem a little less bleak than he seemed to find it, but something in my tone must have convinced him that I meant it, "Nah, I'm kidding, I'm kidding. We're allies, aren't we?" I add quickly.

He smiles, "Sure." As I go back to drawing, he looks over and I shift it slightly so that it rests in a more comfortable position, "Oh, are you not finished yet?"

"Actually yeah, I have finished drawing," I say shyly, angling my notebook so that the small drawing was visible to him. In the drawing, Badger was a knight, a gallant person that brought his kindness to wherever he went. I knew that Badger wasn't one in real life, but that didn't matter to me. He seemed so considerate and set on doing what was right that it didn't matter about anything else.

Badger seemed to be the only person from District 10 that hadn't judged me for the death of Mason. He didn't even seem to think that I was responsible for it, although I had never really seen him around before anyway. Anyway, he seems really kind as well, although he's kind of stubborn and has a short fuse. I'm not really sure why he's here with me. He seems too nice for this.

Most people in my area of District Ten hated me, reviled me for what they thought I was, but who knew how far news had traveled outside of that? Maybe there were some people, people like Badger who were more accepting than my parents had been. It didn't really make me feel too comfortable, since I had never particularly liked District Ten even before the incident, but surely Badger wasn't the only one who felt this way?

Badger's eyes squint as he observes the picture, "Is that supposed to be me?" He asks quietly. When I nod, worry crosses his face before he replaces it with a smile, "So that's what you think of me then."

"Hi! Are you drawing something? Can I see it?" A perky voice stops me from saying anything, and seconds later the girl skips over to lean over my shoulder.

"And you are?" Badger asks.

"Oh, silly me. I haven't introduced myself, have I? Well anyway, hello there, nice to meet you, hope you've all had a wonderful morning so far!" The girl says with a wide smile, "I'm Althea, from District Six, and I would like to ally with you."

Me and Badger just stare at her for a few seconds at her directness, "Oh, er, sure," Badger replies before stupidly adding, "If you want to, that is."

I smile at this, "Badger, I'm pretty sure that if she's offering in the first place, then that means she wants to."

"So, is that a yes then?" She asks with that same level of cheeriness that seemed to be constant with her, "Just saying, you guys look like you get along a lot better than me and Tableyt do. He's been miserable about this whole situation ever since he's been Reaped and he kind of takes it out on me."

She accompanies her words with a shrug, but I can tell by the evasive way she delivers her words and the slight nervousness in her posture when she mentioned her district partner that she wasn't being entirely honest. Anyone could tell just from the Reaping that Tableyt was a little bit more than 'miserable' when talking to Althea, "Oh yeah, me and Badger are friends, I think."

"You think?" Althea laughs, "You don't sound so sure of yourself there, girl. Anyone can see you two get along, so I sure hope I'm not interrupting or anything like that."

No, of course not." Badger replies politely, ruffling my hair and smiling as I pull away, feigning shock at the state of my hair. Althea just smiles again, or rather, her smile became wider, seeing as she never seemed to stop being happy about her life.

"Great, can't wait to get to know you all better!" She exclaims, picking up a few of the pots of crushed-up berries and mud that we were supposed to be using for camouflage, but I happened to be using as ink for my sketches instead, "Hey, can you draw me as well?"

"Oh," I reply dully, taken aback by this request, "I mean, yeah, if you want me to, but I'm not the best drawer. I prefer writing, actually, but I'm not that great at that either."

"Again with the confidence, Arya. You really need to appreciate yourself more!" She tosses her hair back flippantly, "I'm sure your drawing and writing skills are brilliant!"

"Well, if you want me to," I say vaguely as I start smearing the charcoal pieces over the page. Never had I ever been told that I was good at anything before, mainly because people had never really appreciated my attitude before the incident and had tried to avoid me, and afterwards nobody had wanted to associate themselves with a girl like myself.

Which brought me to a new point, I realise as I dabble red berry juice over the page; I have no idea of what the others had done to be here. Talking to my allies, it seemed hard to believe that they were the ones that had gathered the most votes in their district. I mean, everyone here must have done something - or be accused of something, like me - to be here; it was doubtful that the districts would have sent in children that were completely pure and innocent, right? That wouldn't make sense, would it? You'd want to pick someone who stood a solid chance in the Games, or just a kid that was destined to be executed for whatever crimes they were accused of anyway.

It just reminded me that I really didn't know anything about the others, not even Badger. Who knows what they might be hiding?

* * *

**_Prodigy Avenue, 17_**

**_District One,_**

"Attention tributes, we have an important announcement to make," Veronique calls out, allowing the walls to amplify her words. Beside me, Lyona rolls her eyes.

"What now?" She grumbles, sounding irritated. Much to my misfortune, her bad mood now was actually an improvement over yesterday, where she had arrived in a different training suit to everyone else and had the stench of coffee following her around. And she had the audacity to presume she would be leading the Careers! Under normal circumstances, Lyona might have had a decent chance, but when up against me? She shouldn't even be trying.

At least Ros and Brenna didn't seem interested in leadership, and the only reason that I had even allowed Crimson - that vile creature - into the pack was because the weaker tributes thought that her lack of hygiene made her look like a threat. Although they may have a point there, seeing as the germs festering on her skin looked like enough to kill anyone simply by being in close proximity with her.

"Today, there shall be tours held throughout the building today, and several esteemed citizens of the Capitol shall be visiting these premises in order to gain a higher understanding of what training entails for all of you. More information is required by the Capitol media for im-important matters concerning training in the future." Veronique tries to deliver her words in a brisk tone, but the slight stammer as she tries to casually slip in this information tells me that this 'minor' change would be a lot more relevant to us - or rather, me - than she was letting on.

"Why didn't this happen yesterday?" The boy with the unattractive freckles and large, squashed nose from Ten asks impertinently, scowling at the possibility of cameras getting a closer view of his bushy eyebrows and spots. Well, if I was in his position, that's why _I_ would be glowering too.

"They were planned on being held yesterday, but we established that you would appreciate the chance to settle into the Capitol in private first," the forced smile that she wears shows that her 'concern' for the tributes' privacy was anything but the main reason behind this delay, "As always, we would expect you to treat your superiors with the level of respect they have earned, and anyone behaving in a disrespectful manner during their arrival will be punished severely. You may now continue to proceed with your first session."

"They're taking pictures of us training?" Brenna asks hesitantly, not sounding enthused with this idea while she notches an arrow into the bow she was practicing with. Personally, I couldn't share her fears. The prospect of everybody wanting to sponsor me earlier than usual was a fabulous one for me. After all, I was born to be the centre of attention, and it was obvious that I was their future victor, so the sooner I was in the spotlight, the better.

"Don't sound so surprised; it's just a cover-up so they can admire me more," I reply, flicking my fringe back while grinning at her, "Who wouldn't want to have an interview with me? Bet they're all lining up to get a glimpse of me in action first-hand."

"Doubt it. You might ruin your hair in the process and we can't have that," Ros interjects.

"Coming from someone like you? You're just jealous that I look this perfect and then you're just this midget ginger."

This draws a growl from him, which obviously meant that he actually was envious of my superior looks and height, "You won't be looking 'perfect' in the arena. I'll guarantee it."

So, do we actually have any idea of what's going on then?" Brenna hurriedly places herself in between me and Ros before I can reply to his threat to spoil my appearance - like that was possible, since I always looked hot - and puts her arms out. Her twitchy, shy persona was a change from the sadistic little bitch she had been yesterday, when she had threatened that Seven boy and had whispered to me about how I was the only tribute capable enough to even be worth her time.

"It's obvious what we have to do. We just intimidate the rest of these tributes into submission." Lyona replies, rolling her eyes, "Every other respectable trainee has done the same."

"So? Why are we relying on the tactics of the previous tributes? That's not going to make me memorable, is it now? Nobody's going to remember me if I follow the exact same rules as everybody else before me." I say.

It was true; I didn't plan on succeeding by obediently copying what every other District One tribute since the Seventh Hunger Games had done. I was the best that District One had ever had for a tribute, so it was clear that I needed to diverge from the standard tactics of simply killing everyone indirectly. Where was the drama in slitting someone's throat in their sleep, or from leading a pack of mutts to them? Panem saw this every year, and it was becoming incredibly boring to watch. Luckily, I was here, and following me would be an epic routine of fights between worthy opponents (definitely not the peasants from Districts Six or Ten then) and a tense pack at my command that would end up destroying each other from the inside. It would be perfect, like me, provided there were ways of keeping myself presentable in the arena. This was televised, and I could not be caught looking anything lower than my best live.

She glares at me, "We're using practical methods because we know they _work_," she places unnecessary emphasis on the last word, "Unlike _you_, I actually have the brains to realise that handing the enemy a weapon after we've found them just so you can have a 'fair' fight isn't conductive to winning."

"Why not? It's not like any of the other districts have trained, and at least I'd be interesting, not that I'm not already." I smile at Lyona, knowing this would irritate her to no end. Really, if she couldn't even keep her temper in the Capitol, then she'd end up dead in the arena once she encountered someone who knew how to keep a level head.

"Well, this year is going to be _interesting_ already," Lyona doesn't make 'interesting' sound like a positive thing, "I'll be the only District Two tribute joining this year's alliance, because Riley-Iron won't be."

That was less of a shock to me than Lyona had intended it to be. It had been obvious to me, Crimson and the fishermen from District Four that the two of them didn't get along. Oh well, it wasn't a big deal, since Riley-Iron hadn't looked that impressive anyway; he had been beaten up at the Reaping, which was just pathetic. Really, it was surprising that he had even been chosen anyway, even if he was related to one of District Two's more famous victors. What had District Two been thinking?

Glancing over at where Lyona's district partner was accurately throwing knives at the targets from several meters away, I smirk, "Maybe we should show him what a mistake that was for him, yeah? He ain't going to last long acting like that."

"Got that right," Lyona mutters threateningly as she prepares to storm over to him, although I know that she won't really act on her threats. No matter how ridiculously pitiful Riley-Iron was, Lyona didn't want to gain the hatred of her district by killing him before she had to. In that case, this might be a good opportunity to make Lyona owe me later, if I relieved the task of taking out her district partner for her.

"Oh Lyona? I'm presuming you won't want to betray your district, right?" I ask casually.

She just laughs, a malicious gleam dancing in her grey eyes, "Don't you worry, he's yours when we find him."

* * *

**_Cilla Jardine, 18_**

**_District Eleven,_**

"So Cilla, a strong girl like you has surely settled into training well, I'll presume."

Not looking up from the spear I was using, I throw the spear at the target, watching it lodge into the blue ring, before replying, "I've done well, I think."

"Do you think the timetables have had anything to do with your success?" The same voice inquires. Presumably, there was only this one interviewer that had decided I should be questioned.

"I wouldn't know; I've never trained before here, with or without them." I reply neutrally.

"Oh really?" The interviewer ponders my answer falsely, "That's not what we've been informed. Rumour has it that your grandfather taught you self-defense." She - I can tell by the soft lift of her voice - makes no attempts to keep her voice quiet about this tidbit of information, and I can see a speculating gleam in the eyes of the girl from Two as she assesses me.

Irritation surges up like a wave inside of me. I happened to be fighting for my life here against twenty three other tributes, a fight where every scrap of information given away could lead to my demise, and then you had this woman who was carelessly scrapping my chances at succeeding with her ignorance, "Yeah, I do know how to handle myself," I spit out, glaring at the Two girl until she looks away with a smirk on her face, "And you'll find that out first-hand if you don't shut up!"

"No need to be rude, or so secretive. I'm sure you district people are more civilised than that." Her haughty laugh suggested she thought otherwise, "And so it is true. Surely you would want others to know that you are capable then, yes? Why anybody would want to appear as some weakling is beyond me, especially when you look the way you do."

Annoyed, I carelessly throw another spear at the target, not even caring when the spear sticks into the target several inches closer to the center, "Yeah, yeah, I'll keep your advice in mind." I say evasively, trying to say the right thing that would make her go away.

Luckily, this does seem to placate her, and she quickly flits over to the nearest tribute, Riley-Iron from District Two. He already seems to be in a perpetual bad mood ever since he had been punched in the Reaping and then had his teeth replaced by silver, which made sense, but seemed like a recipe for disaster when you added the insensitive reporter stirring things up.

She wastes no time with him, "Well, Mr Holt," the woman asks in a deliberately pretentious and formal way, "You're already on your way to looking just like you were actually born here, thanks to your fabulous stylist. Isn't that brilliant?"

He doesn't answer, preferring to just glower at the target as he throws up another spear, which the interviewer takes as her cue to start a new topic when Lyona manages to hit the center, "Oh, bad luck Riley. Looks like your district partner has managed to outshine you once again. How do you think you'll ever survive with Lyona in the arena with you?"

Silence.

"You know that the Capitol adores Lyona, don't you? Do you think you have a chance compared to her?" The interviewer continues to press, "I mean, you did take a pretty big beating with that other guy, didn't you sweetie? Personally darling, I just don't think that - "

With an inhumane growl of anger, Riley-Iron flings out one arm and pushes against the nearest object to him. The clattering of spears is the only sound that resonates through the room after Riley-Iron had shoved the rack over, rage etched over his features.

The metal heads of the spears rattling against the polished floors wasn't the most subtle of sounds, and since it had been enough to draw the attention of most of the tributes, it was clear that the way the trained tributes - Careers or not - functioned this year was of great concern to them. That made sense, naturally, seeing as the Career tributes had been winning more and more Games in recent years; tributes from Districts One, Two or Four altogether had won around half the Games in the twenty four years they had been broadcasted, even though the alliance they usually formed hadn't been an official thing until around the Seventh Games or so.

Picking up a spear, Riley-Iron points it at the interviewer, who backs away apprehensively. Under the circumstances, I was surprised that she hadn't screamed for the Peacekeepers to save her, seeing as we were supposed to be the 'barbaric' district folk after all.

Instead, she just smiles, "Anger issues, and therapy is obviously required for this one. Great, I'll have a story out of this!" Without a second glance, she prances off, scribbling something down furiously in her notepad. However, I wasn't paying attention to her, too busy mulling over the prospect of this skilled - if temperamental - man as an ally.

I needed a strong ally, and he seemed like a viable choice, provided I didn't try to provoke him like the interviewer had done, which I didn't plan on doing. Besides, that rage could be very useful to me if I aimed it at the right person. Unless he had denied being in the Career group because he wasn't fond of alliances full stop, but I wouldn't know without asking, would I now?

"Excuse me, may I ally with you?" I ask politely. It was at odds with the slight irritation that the Capitol reporter had brought, but my grandmother had always taught me to be polite when requesting something, and as long as I was in a fair mood, I could comply with this.

He scrutinizes me with observant black eyes, still affected by what the interviewer had done. Already, I can tell he wasn't someone that could simply brush off those comments the woman had made, "Ith you're okay with thath." It immediately becomes clear that he has a slight lisp, which seems to be causing him some inconvenience, and my eyes widen slightly at how child-like his pronunciation is. Noting my reaction to this, he narrows his eyes, "Ith my new ter-eeth making me tolk like fis. I thinkth the Capitol were thrying to make me sound as inteh-egent as them."

I laugh at this and he gives me a close-lipped smile back, "Well, they sure have succeeded then. 'Tis not a problem, of course," I add hastily, "They do say actions speak louder than words, right? You'll be the perfect example of that."

Although his tense stance doesn't ease up, he gives me an approving nod before going back to wielding his spear accurately. Something tells me that he wasn't exactly going to be in a talkative mood when his stylists had ruined his ability to speak properly, but at least he had seemed to accept me as an ally.

However, I didn't really know what to do now. Sure, I knew how to handle a pitchfork - and this had seemed to help me out when handling a sword and spear somewhat - but as far as tactics went, I was hopeless. I now have an ally, a strong, capable one at that, but I had no idea of if having someone the Careers disliked was a good idea in the long run. That was supposed to be the part where a mentor - someone that knew something about the Games first-hand - would step in, but District Eleven didn't actually have a proper mentor, although it hadn't always been this way.

In fact, we managed to bring someone - a girl called Aliyah Asphodel - home only a mere two years ago, but she hadn't lasted for long once she had returned. Once the year's worth of supplies from her victory were gone, she was attacked in her own home and killed, seeing as her victory wouldn't benefit the rest of District Eleven anymore. Now me and Fir were stuck with this doddering Capitol woman who went by the name of Zaira and cared more about betting on the Career tributes than actually offering us advice. It was maddening.

The worst thing about Aliyah's sudden murder was - without a doubt - the reason given by her murderers afterwards. She had been white, and therefore couldn't be trusted with the money and power she possessed, they had the brashness to say. They had actually dared to consider that a valid reason for killing her.

When you compared the violence shown there to the Capitol, which seemed to have no set rule as to what you 'had' to look like, it made me wonder just how much 'better' District Eleven was morally. Sure, the Capitol were more open with their obsession with appearances, but the districts could be just as judgmental, that was what I had found. You couldn't mark the districts and the Capitol in lines as black and white as 'good' and 'evil'.

* * *

**_Velvet Red, 12_**

**_District Eight,_**

Sitting on the perch of the climbing station, I smile as I watch the boy from Eleven try and climb up the ridges placed on the walls. The whitening of his knuckles as he grips the dents in the walls and the way he's biting his lip tells me everything I need to know about how he was feeling. Observing the poor thing struggling really was quite entertaining and a good way of passing the time. His eyes keep darting around, trying desperately to look at anything but the drop between him and the floor.

"I really wouldn't worry about that," I say, noticing the way the boy almost lets go at the sound of my voice, "It's only a few feet before you hit the ground, probably whacking your head against the hard floor that's below you. Consequently, your brain might knock against your skull, almost guaranteeing you a concussion and brain damage. Or if you're really unlucky, you'll just be in a lot of pain and a sitting duck for someone like Crimson to come and tear you apart." I continue casually, "Or me. Care for a demonstration?" I make out like I'm going to try and push him off, laughing as his face pales slightly and as he tries to retreat back down the wall as fast as he can without slipping.

Still grinning, I lean back against the climbing wall, content to stay here and watch everything from above without anybody else trying to burden me with their problems. Did people really think I cared about what they were going through? If it didn't help me, then I didn't want to know about it, simple as. Besides, if people weren't willing to help me with my own problems, then they really couldn't blame me when I didn't care about theirs.

None of the children below me would get the chance to go near me, not during training, anyway. I couldn't stand the thought of having someone else that thought I should actually look out for them and listen to every petty complaint they made. And seeing as this was the Hunger Games, whatever ally I bothered making would probably be in a perpetual state of fear and act incredibly twitchy and jumpy around me. That might be fun to watch with my victims, but when it came to the person I was supposed to be trusting? Not so much.

Come to think of it, only my mother had ever managed to stand my presence without panicking. She never acted like she thought I would attack her, which was precisely why I hadn't done so. My mother had never acted like I was some wild animal that needed to be avoided, oh no. She treated me like an actual person, never suspecting me to hold ulterior motives. I wonder how she was managing now, knowing that her son had been chosen by the citizens she was the mayor of. Was she now fully subject to the hatred District Eight were capable of, or was she receiving sympathy for her difficult situation?

I quickly shove aside that line of questioning however, as the thought of anybody else even getting close to my mother, let alone harming her, was enough to infuse me with fury. Nobody else - especially not the scum that infested District Eight - should be allowed to go anywhere near such a kind, nonjudgmental woman like her, regardless of wherever they wished her harm or good. She belonged to me, and me only. My father had tried to assert his dominance over her, and I had won. I deserved to keep her.

The whines of the District One boy, Prodigy distract me from my reminiscing of my family, and the effort it takes for me to look downwards and towards the axe station is wasted as I see him trying to shoo away Crimson. To think that the two of them were supposed to be allies, although I doubted that arrangement would have happened if it wasn't for the pride about his district that Prodigy made no efforts to hide. Why he would put so much stock into his district as a whole when that would ultimately reflect badly on him was beyond me.

Ignoring his protests and Crimson's carefree giggling, my eyes sweep over the rest of the tributes, analysing the alliances that exist so far. The weaklings from Ten had allowed yet another bloodbath in the making, Althea, into their little herd of easy targets, and while Badger was over by the camouflage station, the two girls were trying to help each other with throwing knives. As if that would help them when they inevitably turned on each other, I think as I roll my eyes. Then you had the girl from Seven who had decided to try and protect Peyton, the Three girl, in a doomed act of kindness, while over by the spears station happened to be Riley-Iron and Cilla, who were silent as they worked on improving their abilities. They clearly weren't allied out of friendship.

That alliance was a complete contrast to the pair from District Five, who were making silly faces at each other from different stations, cheerfully ignorant to their instructors' stern reminders to concentrate on their own work. Just watching them was enough to make anger spark up inside of me, tempered with another emotion that I can't quite identify. What idiots they were, thinking their alliance would actually help them. Chances are that it would break before the end of the first day, provided that neither of these clowns died in the Bloodbath. Actually, both of them would probably end up dead, what with the way those two seemed determined to stumble through training without a care in the world and act like everything was just fine between those two.

Then I realise what that feeling is. _Jealousy_. I'm _envious_ of how close they seem to be, even in a situation like this. It just reminds me of what I can't have. Back home, I had never been given the chance to settle in with the other children, not with my father, and now nobody would ever want to.

All I had wanted was some company, someone to confide to in my last days. Was that so bad?

* * *

**_Fir "Fox" Crusix, 17_**

**_District Eleven,_**

Don't look down, do _not_ look down.

Those words repeat over and over again in my head, not allowing me to concentrate on anything else as the fear of reliving the experience in District Eleven clouds my mind in fear. Remembering the sensation of falling, the whistling of the wind rushing against my ears and not being able to touch anything. Finally, the slamming sensation of a limp body hitting relentless stone and the burning sensation of every nerve cell screaming in pain. I close my eyes in a vain attempt to dispel the memory, but all that does is burn the remnants of that time even further into my mind, a time when I had been entirely alone with nobody to help me out of the situation I had got myself into.

I didn't really plan on an alliance, although I was still undecided about that. I've seen snippets of the previous Games, all the different tributes and arenas and mutts spinning in my head, and if there was one thing consistent about them, it was that alliances always ended up badly. If people hadn't saved me back then, I wasn't sure on their ability to help me out now.

"Time to change stations!" The instructor at the climbing station says, gesturing dramatically for me to jump down the last few feet unquestioningly and follow her instructions, "Next up is basic medical aid! Imagine how helpful that will be. It applies to any arena as well!"

Nodding, I just pick up the schedule and head over to the medical station. The little girl from District Twelve has just arrived, but judging by her fearful expression, it seems she's being harassed by the boy from Four, Ros, who was in the process of leaving. As I approach, I catch a snippet of the conversation.

" - can't even guess why you're bothering," he says sceptically, "In fact, why did you even bother turning up? You're just wasting your time."

"W-why are you wasting your time on me then?" Dandelion, I think her name is, croaks out hoarsely, still tying the bandage for her sling around her arm. Her shy, timid demeanor reminds me uncomfortably of Paige, the oldest of my three sisters. Paige had always struggled with conversations as well, preferring to tend to any animals she found. The resemblance between her and Dandelion here was stunning.

"Weren't you listening? The fact you're actually trying to learn something here is a waste of your time, as I said." Ros snaps, bringing me out of my thoughts, "I'm just reminding you of your place, Twelve, just in case you think you can actually win."

"It's Dandelion." She aims a pleading look at the instructor, but he doesn't seem particularly inclined to order Ros to move on. In fact, the instructor was watching the scene with a satisfied smirk on his face, like he had been hoping for something like this to happen. Definitely odd behaviour on his part; wasn't this distracting from their learning, therefore defeating the point of the timetables?

"Even your name says it all. You're just a scraggly weed that can be easily killed off. Go back to your floor and cry about your inevitable fate or whatever people like you do." His next words cause sparks of anger to be kindled inside me, "Or even better, just jump off your plate early. You'll probably be better off that way."

I couldn't believe that this guy had just told a twelve year old girl with a death sentence to kill herself. I couldn't even start to understand how cruel you had to be to do something like that, especially to someone as impressionable and terrified as Dandelion. In fact, now seemed like a pretty good time to intervene before Ros could do any more damage.

"S-she isn't h-hopeless!" I say, "A-at l-least s-she can m-make a sl-sling p-properly," I nod my head towards Dandelion's neat, well-constructed arm sling before looking contemptuously at the looser sling the boy had made. Then I realise that the quality of the slings had nothing to do with the conversation at hand, "S-so j-just l-l-leave he-her alone!" I try and sound threatening, but my stutter once again undermines this.

"Make me," he challenges, "Hey, what does this have to do with a freak like you anyway?"

"W-we're allies," Dani whispers, looking like she wanted to add more until a glare from the District Four boy shuts her up. I guess now wasn't the time to say that we weren't allies, seeing as we were temporarily joined together against Ros. She had probably said it to justify me being here, or maybe this was her way of subtly indicating she wanted me as an ally. I wasn't entirely sure.

"Oh, would you look at that?" He sneers, "If it isn't two bloodbaths allying together. How adorable."

Carefully turning to face him - I'd learned the hard way that sudden movements with my head did not go down well with me - I narrow my eyes at him, "D-d-don't you k-know th-that you s-should pick o-on s-someone your own s-size?"

Although his smirk remains, I can see that he's clenched his jaw slightly, telling me that he took more offense to that comment than he let on. The fact that I tower over him probably contributed to his irritation, "Don't tell me what I can do. I mean, come _on_. Are you seriously expecting some whiny little crybaby and someone who can't even form a coherent sentence to survive ten seconds into the Games?"

"We might do," Dandelion points out timidly, playing with strands of her hair in order to conceal herself. She flinches back when Ros turns to glare at her, unimpressed by our attempts at defying him, "People like us have survived before."

"Sorry to pop your pathetic little delusion, darling, but you aren't going to be one of them." Ros says patronisingly, nodding and acting as if Dandelion was three years old, unable to understand the world, "Say, if you do end up being moronic enough to run for the supplies in the bloodbath, try and find me. I'll make it quick, if I feel generous." He punctuates this with a laugh before strolling off.

"Er, D-dani?" I ask when the District Four Career has gone, "I-I'm really s-sorry for what he s-said, but w-we're not a-allies."

"Oh, sorry," she looks crestfallen, casting a scared look at his retreating form, "I-I just thought that since you were so quick to defend me..." Dani trails off for a few seconds before looking down at the ground again, "Um, it doesn't matter."

"Yes it does," I try and say reassuringly, although the words come out too hastily, "I-I'll be your a-ally."

"Really?" She sounds surprised, as if she hadn't even dared to think she was worthy of an ally.

"Yes, r-really," I reply as I pat her shoulder in a comforting gesture, "Y-you have me now. I'll protect you."

* * *

**_Promethium "Rome" Tundra, 17_**

**_District Five,_**

"Peek-a-boo, I found you!"

Slamming the doors of the wardrobe that she had been hiding in open, Paraiba leaps out and flings her arms around, leaving a trail of candy-wrapper clothes in her wake. Once her feet are on the floor, Paraiba poses extravagantly, wrapping a feather boa around her neck tighter.

"Paraiba, what are you doing in my wardrobe?"

"Bringing new joy to yet another tedious, dull day of training! I don't know how you ever managed to cope without my presence thanks to those dumb timetables!" She smirks, ignoring the stray sock in her hair and the dark green jumper stubbornly clinging to her body.

"It's been two days. Surely you can't be bored already?"

"Well," she sighs melodramatically, "I am, so there. By the way, I'm loving some of the things the Capitol think you'll need." Grinning devilishly, Paraiba delicately picks up a pale blue bra and waves it in front of me, "Is there something you're not telling me, Rome? Or should I say, Rosabella?"

"Yes, clearly I am a female and everybody in District Five somehow mistook me for a boy." I reply in a deliberately even tone of voice, "Surprised nobody noticed during training, if I'm honest."

"Hey, what do we actually do after training's over, anyway?" Paraiba bites her lip as she looks at me curiously, twirling a curl around her finger.

"What do you mean? You found that out yesterday, didn't you?"

Nothing much happened after we had finished, except for us informing our mentor, Elora, what we had achieved today. Well, if I'm being specific, Elora had told _me_ that. Being our only living victor, Elora had evidently decided that focusing all her efforts on one tribute would be an efficient tactic, and I happened to be the 'lucky' one.

_"Poor thing is a dead girl walking. I know it and so does District Five, it seems. I wouldn't even advice allying with her; she'll drag you down too."_ That had been her response when I asked her why she had picked me to mentor. Even Paraiba thought she wasn't going to survive, judging by her flippancy in training for the past two days.

She shrugs, "No, I meant something useful. Much as the Capitol is pretty and all, I don't want to spend my last evenings stuck in this stuffy floor until the Games. We need to run around, explore the city, actually do something interesting!" Paraiba's voice perks up as she spreads her arms around, indicating the tantalising view of the Capitol that called to us from the windows.

"Wait, you're saying that preparing for our imminent deaths isn't interesting?" I feign shock, "Gee, kids these days are so spoiled."

"Well, you're one of those kids." Without waiting for me to reply, she heads towards the elevators, "So, you coming?"

"Is this even allowed?" I ask, glancing around to check that nobody else was listening. It wasn't that I was bothered about disobeying the Capitol or what they would do to us if they knew what we were planning - they had sentenced at least one of us to certain death anyway - but I had never heard any stories of people trying to escape the training building. Not to say that it hadn't happened before, but I wasn't sure how good the security around the training centre actually was.

She taps a finger against her chin, "Hmm, probably not." Suddenly, she veers off-course from the elevator and dashes off towards her room, and I'm only temporarily caught off-guard by this sudden change in her path before I follow, "But that's not going to stop us. All we need is to blend in."

"With everybody in Panem knowing who we are? I don't think that's likely." I reply.

Grinning, Paraiba reaches out for something I can't see behind her and whips out a bright pink skirt, "Nah, we can look just like them with these. No concept of moderation with fashion in the Capitol. Besides, nobody's going to suspect two tributes trying to escape with a feather boa and green high heels, right?"

...

"Well, that turned out better than I was expecting," Paraiba admits as we exit the training building, "Somehow, I didn't think that we make the most inconspicuous pair."

This was her way of commenting on the clothes both of us wore, which were far more colourful and eye-catching than the usual District Five fare. However, we hadn't exactly received a copy of the Capitol's dress code, so we figured that anything brightly-coloured would make us fit in - even if that wouldn't really make sense in the districts. Not to mention the makeup and wigs both of us had used to obscure ourselves, "You're telling me that you didn't even think this through first?"

"Are you surprised, Rosabella?" She tilts her head to the side, revealing a few dark brown curls that were oh-so-neatly tucked under the yellow wig she wore, "I just presumed that the Capitol wouldn't find anything suspicious about two tourists leaving the training quarters. I mean, they even told us that they were allowing tours in here."

She had a point, which was unsettling coupled with the ease we had with leaving, "Could you knock off calling me that?" She shakes her head, looking like she had just been caught with her hand in the cookie jar, "Do you act like this for everything you do?"

"I know this will come as a shock, but no, I do not," she puts both hands over her mouth and widens her eyes, "Scandalous, I know, but sometimes, I have to actually do this amazing thing called...planning!"

"Doubt you'd do much in District Five," I mutter, "There's hardly anything to do."

Paraiba laughs, "Oh Rosabella, you make me laugh sometimes. There's nothing to do? What district are _you_ on?" Noticing the confusion in my eyes, she continues, "Like, there isn't anything fun that you're allowed to do, but where's the fun in following their rules?"

Starry-eyed at the Capitol, Paraiba immediately waltzes off to admire something that had caught her fancy. She was carefree in that aspect, never really giving much thought to the problems around her. Not that I could blame her here, since the Capitol had so much on display to distract you. It was an almost-surreal change from the acres of grey in District Five from the factories and listless grey apartments.

Looking at the streets here, I can't help but think about what Cerium would think if she could see this with her own eyes. She'd be enraptured with the luxury that was so blatant here, revel in the visual beauty of it all. However, I knew that she would see beyond the surface to the decaying inside of the Capitol and not mock me for this.

If only I could say that I wish she was here to try and lose yourself in the aesthetic appeal the Capitol showed, but that would mean she was here in the same damned Games that I was, and that would be equivalent to her funeral. Cerium could not die; she was my only sibling left after Zinc had disappeared, and I couldn't lose her too.

The thought of her just makes me feel even more guilty though, dispelling whatever rush being with Paraiba had given me. Here I was, acting like I had nothing to lose and that I wasn't even going to try and win the Games, when Cerium and my parents were probably back at home praying that I didn't have to die. Did that make me a hypocrite, I wonder, hoping that Cerium wouldn't leave me when I wasn't even going to try and return home to her? But I didn't want to tear apart other families either, and I didn't know which choice to take.

"Hey, Rome?" Paraiba stops all of a sudden near an alley, feigning interest in a poster stuck against the wall that was asking the reader to sponsor the District Four tributes. It doesn't escape my attention that she's dropped my oh-so-affectionate nickname, "I think we're being followed."

Trying not to be obvious, my eyes dart around my surroundings. There seemed to be nothing suspicious about the herd of small children that were splashing around in the fountain nearby, or the well-dressed woman that was casually reading a newspaper, and I can't see reason for concern.

"Trying to escape, Miss Addams?" A voice says from around the corner of the fountain, and a tall, well-dressed woman appears with a few Peacekeepers behind her. In a few strides, she's managed to cut us off from the rest of the Capitol by blocking the alleyway, and the tasers that her guards were holding didn't exactly grant us much chance of escaping anyway. It occurs to me then that this woman must have known me and Paraiba had left, had _allowed_ us even to get this far in order to ensure she could corner us here for retrieval. It would explain how we managed to 'escape' so easily.

"Nah, just enjoying the Capitol, O Almighty Gamemaker." Paraiba mumbles vaguely, her sarcasm derailed somewhat by the fact that her attention was focused on the blue sparks of electricity that were blossoming on the woman's taser.

"And I'm sure your district partner holds the same views," she continues to address Paraiba before her eyes rake over me. Her smile widens as I try to hold her gaze, "And isn't it lovely to find out that he shares your penchant for disobedience as well," the Gamemaker leers, pointing the taser at me while her entourage of Peacekeepers hustle us further into the alley away from everyone's sight, "But playtime's over, kiddies, and you're out past your curfew."

* * *

**This chapter was a bit dialogue-heavy (aside from Velvet's POV, seeing as he's not that sociable) and choppy by my standards, so apologies for that since dialogue isn't something I'm the best at. **

**In any case, alliances are getting more complicated. It might seem like I have a lot of alliances now (and they aren't finished) but, rest assured, there's the bloodbath to take into consideration.  
**

**Current Alliances (not a final list)**:

**Prodigy Avenue, 17, District 1 Male,**  
**Crimson Dasher, 15, District 1 Female**  
**Lyona Stonelef, 16, District 2 Female,**  
**Brenna Fairbain, 16, District 4 Female,**  
**Ros Messina, 17, District 4 Male,**

**Paraiba Addams, 15, District 5 Female,**  
**Promethium Tundra, 17, District 5 Male,**

**Peyton Wyre, 13, District 3 Female,**  
**Ezmera Hazel, 16, District 7 Female,**

**Althea Kayson, 18, District 6 Female,  
Badger Willis, 16, District 10 Male,**  
**Arya Snow, 17, District 10 Female,**

**Riley-Iron Holt, 18, District 2 Male,  
****Cilla Jardine, 18, District 11 Female,**

**Fir Crusix, 17, District 11 Male,**  
**Dandelion Wildflee, 12, District 12 Female,**


End file.
